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ROBERT    SIMPS0 


••MB* 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


J 


THE  BITE 
OF  BENIN 


THE  BITE  OF   BENIN 

"WHERE  MANY  GO  IN 
BUT  FEW  COME  OUT" 


BY 

ROBERT  [SIMPSON 

Author  of  ''Barstoiv's  Wife,"  "The  Legacy  of  Tears," 
"The  Executioner,"  etc. 


NEW    YORK 

THE  JAMES  A.  McCANN  COMPANY 
'1919 


Copyright  1919.  by 

THE  JAMES  A.  McCANN  COMPANY 
All  k.ght*  R«M/Md 


Printed  in  th«  U.S.  A 


35-31 


To  M#  Mother 


1562961 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    THE  CHIEF  OF  AKERRI 1 

II.    Miss  SEVEROID 11 

III.  EMULATING  CLAUDE  DUVAL 18 

IV.  THE  MESSENGER 29 

V.    IN  SEARCH  OF  PROTECTION 37 

VI.    SIGNALS 47 

VII.    TEARS 55 

VIII.    THE  AFFAIR  AT  SAGANNA 63 

IX.    THE  SPECIAL  CORRESPONDENT 72 

X.    AGIGI  TAKES  A  HAND 80 

XL    INSTRUCTIONS 87 

XII.    THE  FIGHT    \ 95 

XIII.  No  ANSWER 104 

XIV.  ARRANGEMENTS 114 

XV.    THE  "TRAP" 121 

XVI.    THE  FALL  OF  McCmRE 132 

XVII.    ON  THE  MAYONA  ROAD 141 

XVIII.    THROUGH  THE  RAIN 153 

XIX.    DISCIPLINE 165 

XX.    AN  INTRUSION 177 

XXI.    BETRAYED 186 

XXII.  THE  CONQUEST  OF  THE  GOVERNMENT    ....  196 

XXIII.  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  CHIEF 205 

XXIV.  THE  PLOT 214 

XXV.    METHOD  IN  His  MADNESS 226 

XXVI.    ON  TO  TULAMI 238 

XXVII.    WITHIN  THE  GATES 248 

XXVIII.    THE  EXCHANGE 256 

XXIX.    THE  RETURN 267 

XXX.    THE  AWAKENING 276 

XXXI.    THE   RECKONING 284 

XXXII.    THE  WAGER 298 

XXXIII.  A  THREAT  AND  A  PROMISE 310 

XXXIV.  CRALLA? 320 

XXXV.    "LIKE  A  GENTLEMAN — UNAFRAID" 329 

XXXVI.  THE  HEADSTONE  339 


THE  BITE 
OF  BENIN 


THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

CHAPTER  I 

THE    CHIEF   OF   AKERRI 

WITHIN  a  bare  room  of  a  mud-walled  hut  in  the 
village  of  Akerri  two  men  leaned  across  a  rickety  table 
and  talked  in  whispers.  A  kerosene  lamp  with  a  col 
ored  glass  reservoir  shed  its  flickering  light  upon  their 
faces — one  of  which  was  white,  young,  eager;  the 
other  black,  middle-aged,  impassive. 

Cards  and  a  dice  box  occupied  the  space  between 
them. 

The  white  man — he  was  little  more  than  a  boy — 
sat  upon  an  ancient  camp  chair  that  tilted  sidewise 
and  threatened  to  collapse — the  black  upon  an  empty 
two-tin  kerosene  case. 

Beyond  them,  in  the  shadows  of  the  doorway,  a  lithe 
young  Jackrie  girl  lay  coiled  upon  a  mat — watching. 

Upon  the  wall,  immediately  above  the  white  man's 
head,  hung  a  cheap  print  of  Queen  Victoria.  Cralla 
was  a  devout  patriot. 

The  village  sweltered  in  heathenish  slumber.  Out 
of  the  swamps  and  the  bush  round  about  came  the 
shrill  whistling  of  insects  and  the  strange,  burring 
croak  of  frogs.  Occasionally  the  yelp  of  a  maraud 
ing  bush  dog,  kicked  out  of  a  neighboring  hut,  or 
the  singsong  crooning  of  a  dusky  mother  to  a  wake 
ful  infant,  would  disturb  the  somber  quiet,  but  neither 


2  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

the  white  man  nor  the  black  nor  the  girl  in  the  door 
way  paid  any  heed. 

The  white  man's  name  was  Ralph  Debenham.  He 
was  a  young  Englishman,  within  striking  distance  of 
his  majority,  and  he  had  been  in  the  Niger  Delta  about 
a  year,  being  employed  as  an  assistant  on  Marsden  & 
Co.'s  trading  station  at  Segwanga.  This  was  two 
hour's  distant  from  Akerri  by  canoe. 

In  Segwanga  young  Debenham  was  known  as  a 
"queer  cuss,"  which  decided  his  status  finally  and 
allowed  him  to  go  his  own  queer  way  unhindered  and 
unquestioned. 

If  a  "first-timer"  did  not  volunteer  information 
about  himself  it  was  not  considered  judicious  to  in 
quire  into  his  reason  for  having  severed  his  connec 
tions  with  the  homeland  to  take  up  temporary  resi 
dence  in  a  country  in  which  death  comes  in  so  many 
guises  that  there  are  no  names  for  some  of  them. 

But  in  passing  it  may  be  said  that  visiting  native 
villages  alone,  after  dark,  was  once,  and  probably  is 
yet,  a  frequent  cause  for  sudden,  violent  additions 
to  .the  death  rate. 

A  glimpse  of  Debenham's  quick,  dark  eyes  and 
eager,  twitching  mouth,  would  have  told  a  physiogno 
mist  in  a  twinkling  that  he  was  impulsive  to  the  point 
of  suicidal  recklessness.  The  fact  of  his  being  in 
the  native  village  of  Akerri  after  midnight  was  suf 
ficient  proof  of  his  dominant  characteristics  without 
searching  his  face  to  find  them. 

His  companion  was  Chief  Cralla,  a  magnificently 
built,  broad-faced  Jackrie,  whose  color  and  lips  and 
nose  told  of  an  ancient  Portuguese  strain  in  his  blood. 

Cralla  was  remarkable  in  many  respects. 

First,  he  was  almost  a  gentleman — and  the  ordi 
nary  Jackrie  is  not  within  several  centuries  of  that 
distinction.  His  habitat  is  the  Benin  River  district  of 


THE  CHIEF  OF  AKERRI  3 

that  mystic,  swampy  maze  known  as  the  Niger  Delta, 
and  he  is  a  liar  and  a  thief  by  birth  and  education! 

He  buys  his  wives  like  cattle  and  does  not  eat  with 
a  knife  and  fork,  but  sits  upon  his  haunches  about 
the  family  chop-pot;  and  he  who  has  the  largest  and 
most  prehensile  hands  gets  the  biggest  share. 

In  his  squalid,  mud-built  villages,  screened  from  the 
outer  world  by  the  thick,  green  curtain  of  the  Delta 
bush,  some  of  his  brethren  wear  clothes  and  some  do 
not.  Like  olives,  clothes  are  an  acquired  taste  among 
them. 

His  gods  are  strange  and  his  customs  queer  and 
often  terrible.  He  has  no  word  in  the  mongrel  jargon 
he  speaks  that  expresses  gratitude. 

But  Chief  Cralla  was  different.  In  addition  to  the 
cloth  of  brilliant  "real  India"  which  was  girded  about 
him,  native  fashion,  like  a  skirt,  leaving  several  yards 
to  trail  splendidly  in  his  wake,  he  wore  a  singlet  of 
the  finest  quality,  a  soft  white  silk  shirt  and  a  coat 
of  spotless  white  flannel.  He  was  admitted  to  be  the 
leader  of  fashion. 

Shoes,  however,  were  as  yet  too  much  for  him. 
Feet  that  have  gone  naked  and  unrestrained  from  in 
fancy  to  manhood  do  not  take  kindly  to  the  confine 
ment  of  leather. 

Cralla's  hair  was  a  crinkly  gray — a  fact  that  gave 
him  added  dignity.  His  lips,  though  puffy,  were  un 
usually  thin,  and  his  nose  had  come  down  to  him  from 
a  European  ancestor. 

It  was  not  his  fault  that  his  parents  had  marred 
an  otherwise  good  face  by  marking  it  with  the  family 
coat-of-arms,  which  consisted  of  queer  looking  little 
puttylike  lumps — black,  of  course — arranged  in  reg 
ular  order  on  his  forehead  and  cheeks,  and  induced 
during  adolescence  by  the  simple,  if  painful,  process 
of  marking  out  the  design  with  a  sharp  knife  an1 


4  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

doctoring  the  wounds  with  a  root  juice  that  caused 
those  permanent  swellings. 

His  eyes,  black  as  the  night  without,  watched 
Debenham  with  a  lazy  interest  that  was  most  discon 
certing. 

The  girl  in  the  doorway,  who  was  called  Ilora, 
watched  them  both. 

Debenham  was  speaking,  and  his  voice  sounded  like 
the  low  hum  of  bees. 

"You  savvy  where  he  be?  You  can  go  to  ms 
place  any  time?  No  be  so?'1 

Cralla  nodded,  but  hesitatingly*  as  though  he  were 
afraid  to  admit  it,  and  his  glance  drifted  to  the  cards. 
He  had  an  abnormal  passion  for  gambling,  and  would 
bet  on  anything,  from  the  number  of  palm-nut  kernels 
in  a  bushel  to  a  race-  between  a  crocodile  and  the  first 
slave  victim  of  a  new  moon  ju-ju,  across  the  dark,  sac 
rificial  pool  beyond  Saganna. 

And  he  had  been  known  to  back  the  slave — and  win ! 

"Wait  li'l  bit,"  Debenham  urged  in  a  low  monotone. 
"We  play  when  we  finish  talk.  This  is  a  big  palaver 
— big-  money  palaver.  Niger  Company  at  Burutu  say 
they  go  pay  them  man  who  can  catch  Clavering — fifty 
thousand  piece.  Fifty  thousaiid,  Cralla!  Think  of 
it!" 

"Ee-yaw!" 

The  Jackrie's  exclamation,  which  is  the  equivalent 
of  "Holy  smoke!"  or  anything  you  are  in  the  habit  of 
saying  when  you  are  surprised  and  awed,  proved  that 
he  thought  fifty  thousand  pieces  a  considerable  for 
tune. 

In  civilized  currency  it  meant  five  thousand  pounds. 
Two  shillings  was  the  equivalent  of  a  "piece,"  and  was 
so  called  because  the  amount  purchased  an  eight-yard 
piece  of  print-cloth — the  grade  generally  worn  by  the 
"masses." 


THE  CHIEF  OF  AKERRI  5 

Only  within  the  past  few  days  had  the  Niger  Com 
pany  raised  its  standing  offer  of  one  thousand  pounds 
to  five  thousand  pounds  for  the  capture  of  Graydon 
Clavering,  alive  or  dead — preferably  dead ! 

The  man  was  worthy  of  the  price. 

Often  aptly  referred  to  as  the  "human  harmattan," 
Clavering  was  an  enigma. 

No  one  really  knew  who  he  was  or  where  he 
had  come  from,  but  many  men,  in  thoughtless  an 
ger,  had  blasphemed  against  the  mother  who  had 
borne  him. 

The  Niger  Company  did  not  care  to  enumerate  the 
charges  against  him.  He  was  called  wonderful,  ter 
rible,  unscrupulous,  magnificent,  daring,  spectacular 
and— devilish ;  and  probably  the  final  adjective  was 
the  best. 

He  went  everywhere  and  did  anything  he  pleased; 
knew  every  bush-path  that  led  into  the  heart- of  the 
mysterious  hinterland,  and  could  steer  a  launch  blind 
folded  through  the  intricate  network  of  the  dark,  for 
bidding  Delta  creeks. 

He  had  smuggled  arms  and  ammunition,  and  sold 
them  to  the  natives,  which  means  much  indiscriminate 
killing  of  both  black  and  white.  He  had  made  and 
unmade  chiefs;  incited  rebellions  and  quelled  them; 
put  down. one  juju  and  set  up  another. 

He  had  stolen  the  government's  launch  Vigilant,  and 
returned  it  several  weeks  later  plus  a  new  coat  of  black 
paint  and  a  significant  skull-and-cross-bones  design  on 
the  funnel.  He  had  taken  fifty  puncheons  of  palm  oil 
out  of  Carey  &  Co.'s  oil  yard,  and  had  sold  them  two 
days  later  in  ten-puncheon  lots  to  the  five  trading  firms 
on  the  Segwanga  Creek. 

He  appeared  to  command  legions  of  natives,  but 
was  never  seen  in  the  company  of  any  of  them.  He 
had  no  headquarters — lived  nowhere;  appeared,  de- 


6  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

spoiled,  vanished  and  appeared  again  in  the  most  un 
expected  places. 

The  natives  considered  him  a  juju,  and  feared  him 
as  they  feared  the  most  ancient  of  their  fetish  super 
stitions;  the  whites  regarded  him  in  much  the  same 
way  as  they  did  a  harmattan  mist,  which  comes  like  a 
gray  ghost  in  the  night,  chilling  the  tropical  atmos 
phere  to  freezing  point,  and,  taking  its  toll  of  lives, 
passes  on  into  nothingness  again. 

"Harmattan"  Clavering's  latest  exploit  had  been  to 
set  the  Kwalis,  a  dangerous,  up-river  tribe,  to  work 
upon  a  systematic  interference  with  the  Niger  Com 
pany's  business.  As  a  result  the  company's  concessions 
in  Kwali  territory  had  been  put  out  of  operation  and 
their  white  occupants  forced  to  flee  for  their  lives. 

Kwali  country  just  then,  so  far  as  the  white  trading 
element  was  concerned,  was  effectively  sealed — a  fact 
that  was  costing  the  Niger  Company  several  times  the 
price  of  Clavering's  head,  and  netting  Clavering  a  like 
amount  in  his  monopoly  of  the  territory's  mahogany 
and  produce. 

These  conditions  might  continue  for  a  month  or  two 
till  the  rebellious  natives  were  brought  to  order;  and 
then  Clavering,  with  his  pockets  well  lined  with  upper 
Delta  gold,  would  drift  from  the  scene  and  appear 
again  in  a  locality  no  one  would  have  suspected. 

Doubtless  in  the  public  mind  Clavering  and  his 
deeds  and  powers  were  greatly  exaggerated.  There 
were  a  hundred  versions  to  every  story  told  about  him. 

But  there  is  only  one  version  to  this  one. 

"Fifty  thousand  piece,  Cralla!"  Debenham  repeated. 
"I  can  shoot" — he  snapped  his  fingers — "like  that,  and 
it's  all  over.  Fifty  thousand,  Cralla,  don't  forget  that ! 
Fifty  thousand!" 

The  girl  in  the  doorway  rolled  over  and  curled  her 


THE  CHIEF  OF  AKERRI  7 

head  in  her  arms  as  though  the  discussion  made  her 
very  tired.  It  was  not  the  first  time  Debenham  had 
broached  the  subject. 

Cralla  glanced  quickly  in  her  direction,  hesitated  a 
second,  then  leaned  nearer  to  his  guest. 

"I  no  savvy  fif  t'ousan'.  How  much  puncheon  be 
fif  t'ousan'?" 

Debenham  calculated  quickly,  figuring  the  puncheon 
of  palm  oil  as  one  hundred  and  eighty  gallons  at  the 
prevailing  purchase  price.  Then,  with  a  note  of  awe 
in  his  voice,  he  said  slowly  and  impressively : 

"Sev-en  hun-dred !" 

"Ee-yaw!  Chaw!"  The  final  exclamation  trailed 
out  into  a  whispering  silence. 

Cralla  sat  up  straight,  regarding  his  guest  with  an 
expression  of  unbelief,  as  though  he  doubted  that 
there  were  as  many  as  seven  hundred  puncheons  of 
palm  oil  in  the  whole  world. 

"You  no  trouble  for  nothing,"  Debenham  whispered 
temptingly.  "Tell  me  where  I  can  find  him,  and  I  go 
get  him  myself.  I  no  fear  them  man.  When  I  catch 
him  and  bring  him  to  Niger  Company  beach  they'll 
pay  me  seven  hundred  puncheon,  then  I  pay  you  half — 
savvy  ?  You'll  be  big  man  then — bigger  than  Awalla !" 

Awalla  was  the  richest  and  most  influential  chief  in 
the  district,  and  Cralla,  muttering  something  in  Jack- 
rie,  appeared  to  be  studying  the  matter;  perhaps  pic 
turing  himself  taking  precedence  to  Awalla.  In  any 
case,  his  eagerness  increased,  as  though  he  would  tell 
what  he  knew  at  once. 

But  as  Debenham  watched  and  waited  there  came 
into  the  Jackrie's  face  the  expression  the  adventurous 
young  Englishman  had  dreaded — that  superstitious 
fear  which  Harmattan  Clavering  had  generated  in  the 
breast  of  every  native  who  had  heard  his  name. 

"I  no  fit."     Cralla  backed  away  from  the  proposal 


8  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

physically  as  well  as  mentally.  "Clavering  be  ju-ju. 
If  I  talk  a  hundred  man  come  kill  me  one  time.  Plen'y 
puncheon  no  use  for  dead  man !" 

From  a  neighboring  slave  compound  came  the  eery 
•whining  of  a  newly-branded  human  purchase,  awak 
ened  from  a  troubled  sleep.  Debenham  tried  to  con 
ceal  his  disgust,  but  did  not  succeed  very  well. 

Ilora's  head  rose  a  little  and  her  eyes  fell  upon  Deb 
enham  with  a  lazy  indifference  that  was  the  height  of 
supreme  contempt.  Then,  resting  her  cheek  upon  her 
arms  again,  she  seemed  to  doze  as  he  droned  on  per 
suasively. 

"You  can,  Cralla.  That  ju-ju  talk  is  fool  talk. 
Those  things" — he  nodded  toward  the  cards  and  dice — 
"be  bigger  ju-ju  than  Clavering." 

Cralla's  expression  instantly  changed  from  fear  to 
fascination.  His  hand  went  out  to  the  dice  box  like 
a  coy  lover's  to  his  sweetheart's  hand. 

"Tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Cralla,"  Debenham  said  sud 
denly.  "I'll  play  you  for  it." 

"Chaw!" 

Cralla's  eyes  snapped  upon  his  tempter  in  amaze 
ment.  His  exclamation  meant  that  he  thought  Deben 
ham  was  taking  an  unfair  advantage  of  him. 

Ilora  raised  her  head  again,  and  this  time  did  not 
let  it  fall.  The  whining  in  the  slave  compound  had 
ceased. 

Debenham  concealed  a  smile  of  triumph,  and  paused 
impressively  to  allow  Cralla's  greatest  weakness  to  feed 
upon  his  idea.  Then  he  leaned  across  the  table. 

"I'll  play  you  for  it.  If  I  lose,  I  pay  five  puncheon. 
If  you  lose,  you  tell  which  place  I  can  find  him.  One 
throw.  You  play?" 

The  Jackrie  stirred  uneasily,  looked  all  about  him, 
fought  a  useless  fight  for  a  minute  or  two — and  lost. 

Ilora  raised  herself  upon  her  elbows. 


THE  CHIEF  OF  AKERRI  9 

"Be  five  puncheon  you  pay?"  Cralla  asked  hoarsely. 
"Five  puncheon !"  Debenham  returned  with  remark 
able  coolness  in  one  so  young,  considering  the  fact  that 
he  was  gambling  with  six  months'  pay.     "And  you  tell 
if  you  lose?" 

Cralla  took  up  the  dice  box  in  a  shaking  hand  that 
distinctly  said  that  he  was  gambling  with  death. 
Young  Debenham  knew  that,  too,  but  he  needed  the 
five  thousand  pounds  very  badly.  At  least,  others  for 
whom  he  was  responsible  did,  and  to  him  that  meant 
the  same  thing. 

He  had  no  fear  of  Cralla  not  paying  if  he  lost. 
Cralla  always  paid;  probably  because  he  knew  that  if 
he  did  not  others  would  not  pay  him  when  he  won. 
And  Cralla  usually  won. 
Ilora  crept  up  to  her  knees. 

"One  throw,"  Debenham  said,  struggling  to  keep 
the  anxiety  he  felt  out  of  his  voice.  "You  first." 

Cralla  hesitated,  smiled  a  ghastly  smile,  looked 
affrightedly  about  him  again.  Then,  with  a  significant 
shrug  of  the  shoulders,  he  rattled  the  dice  box  vigor 
ously,  muttered  some  jargon  in  Jackrie,  and  threw. 

His  nose  followed  the  dice  to  the  table,  then  came 
up  slowly. 

He  grinned.     He  had  thrown  two  fives. 
Debenham  went  a  little  whiter. 
Ilora  had  risen  to  her  feet — a  lithe  black  Venus, 
coiled  about  by  a  rich  cloth  of  deep  red.     There  was  a 
yellow  silk  handkerchief  wound  about  her  head.     Her 
glistening  white  teeth  gleamed  exultantly  in  answer  to 
Cralla' s  smile,  and  as  Debenham  took  up  the  dice  box 
she  went  still  nearer  to  the  table  with  a  soundless 
movement  that  brought  her  more  swiftly  than  one 
realized  up  behind  the  young  Englishman. 
He  threw. 
Cralla  saw  the  result  first,  and  jerked  backward  upon 


io  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

the  kerosene  case  as  though  Debenham  had  struck  him. 
A  harsh  Jackrie  guttural  escaped  him. 

Debenham  had  thrown  eleven. 

Ilora's  hands  crept  up  to  the  silk  handkerchief  about 
her  head,  and  she  glided  nearer  to  Debenham,  who  was 
watching  Cralla's  twitching  lips  with  a  satisfied  smile. 

There  was  an  awesome  silence. 

And  then,  in  a  second,  something  glaring  yellow 
whipped  across  Debenham's  eyes  and  tightened. 

"Hell !     You  black  swine,  you've — " 

It  ended  in  a  choking  gurgle  as  a  hand  was  clapped 
over  his  mouth.  The  light  of  the  little  lamp  went 
out,  throwing  the  hut  into  the  darkness  of  the  Pit. 

There  was  a  scuffling  of  feet,  the  labored  hiss  of 
Debenham's  struggles  to  avoid  a  gag,  a  murmuring 
storm  of  Jackrie,  the  sudden  winding  of  a  rope  round 
Debenham's  ankles — and  then — 

"Thanks,  everybody.  I  think  that  will  do.  Lift 
them  up  and  carry  them  out.  Don't  hurt  the  white 
man,  but  you  can  pound  friend  Cralla  for  all  you  are 
worth.  Good  girl,  Ilora.  Cleverly  done.  Wah!" 

Clavering  I 


CHAPTER  II 

MISS   SEVEROID 

THERE  is  nothing  between  Forcados  and  Segwanga 
save  gloomily  threatening  creeks  and  a  monotonous 
bank  of  drab  green  bush  that  suggests  a  great  deal  of 
mystery  and  cloaks  much  that  is  weird  and  incompre 
hensible. 

Forcados,  the  bleak  and  enervating  terminal  for 
steamers  out  of  Liverpool,  was  four  hours  from  Seg 
wanga  by  a  good  launch. 

But  the  mission's  launch  Violet  was  not  a  good 
launch,  and  when  something  happened  to  her  boiler 
twenty  miles  north  of  Forcados  at  eight  in  the  evening, 
which  is  two  hours  after  dark,  the  young  man  from 
Marsden's  Beach  broke  the  news  to  the  Mission  Lady 
as  gently  as  he  could. 

They  were  the  only  passengers. 

The  Mission  Lady  laughed  to  show  that  she  did  not 
care,  and  they  sat  together,  stranded  in  the  midst  of 
nowhere,  surrounded  by  a  blanket  of  darkness  in 
which  the  little  cabin  lamp  seemed  like  a  beacon — that 
is,  when  it  was  not  almost  smothered  by  the  hosts  of 
insects  that  crowded  about  it.  Davie  Tait — that  was 
the  young  man's  name — really  did  not  mind  the  delay 
at  all.  He  had  been  down  to  Forcados  superintending 
the  transfer  of  a  shipment  of  kerosene  from  an  Ameri 
can  oil  ship  to  a  dirty  little  low-draft  river  boat,  and 
the  Mission  Lady  was  so  much  of  a  change  after  so 

ii 


12  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

onerous  a  task  that  he  actually  hoped  the  dusky  engi 
neer  would  he  in  no  hurry  making  his  repairs. 

The  Mission  Lady  had  just  come  out  from  England, 
and  Davie,  every  time  he  looked  at  her,  wondered  why 
on  earth  she  had  come  out  at  all. 

To  begin  with,  the  Delta  was  no  place  for  a  white 
woman  for  several  unsavory  reasons,  and  the  new  Mis 
sion  Lady  breathed  soft,  soothing  femininity  from  the 
top  of  her  dull  gold  head  to  the  soles  of  her  small 
white  buckskin  shoes. 

As  a  rule,  mission  ladies  were  thin,  worn,  disap 
pointed-looking  women  who  did  not  seem  to  care  much 
whether  they  lived  or  died.  But  the  new  Mission  Lady 
was  not  in  the  least  like  that. 

Her  hair,  glinting  out  of  the  shadows  of  the  broad 
rim  of  her  pith  helmet  tempted  Davie,  who  was  young 
and  impressionable,  to  remove  the  helmet  and  disclose 
all  of  the  treasure  beneath.  Then  he  saw  her  eyes — 
large,  blue  and  deep  with  the  innocence  of  a  child  in 
them.  He  felt  himself  slipping  into  a  sort  of  trance, 
in  which  he  rudely  dissected  the  Mission  Lady's  strong, 
womanly  face,  feature  by  feature,  vaguely  conscious 
that  she  was  asking  a  great  many  questions  of  the  same 
sort  he  had  asked  when  he  first  arrived  in  the  country, 
and  that  he  was  answering  them  as  intelligibly  as  he 
could. 

He  saw  that  her  eyebrows  were  very  dark  and  her 
laslies  darker  and  very  long.  Her  nose  was  small  and 
straight,  and  her  mouth,  sensitive  and  delicious  to  look 
upon,  seemed  destined  to  kiss  away  children's  tears. 

But  the  chin  gave  the  impression  that  all  the  softness 
and  the  warmth  in  her  face  was  built  upon  a  solid 
foundation,  and  one  knew  instantly  that  once  those 
firm  little  jaws  came  together,  there  was  a  wealth  of 
strength  and  will  to  keep  them  shut. 

She  was  not  tall,  nor  sl>ort,  nor  stout,  nor  yet  too 


MISS  SEVEROID  13 

slender;  but  all  soft  lines  and  warmth  and  sympathy, 
which  Da  vie  felt  would  go  to  waste  upon  greasy,  half- 
naked  black  brutes  who  would  not  even  begin  to  appre 
ciate  it.  Her  voice  was  low  and  evenly  modulated,  and 
she  said  her  name  was  Miss  Severoid. 

When  Davie  told  her  that  he  was  employed  by  Mars- 
den  &  Co.  at  Segwanga,  she  started  perceptibly  and 
seemed  to  come  nearer  to  him,  mentally  and  physically. 
In  fact,  though  he  could  not  have  explained  why,  he 
was  a  little  afraid  of  her  after  that.  Her  eyes  glowed 
upon  him  so  steadily. 

"Do  you  think  he  will  be  long?"  she  inquired,  break 
ing  a  somewhat  awkward  pause  and  referring  to  the 
engineer's  efforts  to  repair  the  boiler. 

"Not  very." 

Davie  knew  that  he  lied,  but  he  was  afraid  to  tell  her 
that  the  repairs  would  consume  two  or  three  hours. 

"I  don't  care  for  myself,"  the  Mission  Lady  admitted 
bravely,  fanning  herself  to  keep  the  mosquitoes  and 
sandflies  away,  "but  I'm  afraid  the  people  at  the 
mission  will  be  worried." 

"Shall  I  go  out  and  see  how  he  is  getting  along?" 

"N-no,  please.     Just— that  is — I — " 

"All  right." 

Both  smiled,  and  Davie  saw  that  Miss  Severoid's 
teeth  were  small  and  white  and  even.  He  also  ob 
served  that  there  was  hardly  an  inch  of  seat  separating 
him  from  her,  and  he  had  no  idea  of  how  she  had 
come  so  near.  He  fidgeted,  twirling  his  helmet  about 
in  his  hands ;  and  then,  using  it  as  a  fan,  scattered  the 
swarm  of  insects  about  the  lamp,  which,  of  course, 
made  him  move  a  foot  or  two  away  from  his  com 
panion. 

The  Mission  Lady's  eyes  followed  him,  and  he  knew 
that  they  did,  though  he  did  not  look  at  her.  Just  as 
he  was  trying  to  say  something  to  relieve  the  depress- 


14  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

ing  quiet,  she  rose  and  walked  slowly  past  him  to  the 
door  of  the  cabin,  where  she  stood  very  still,  staring 
out  into  the  pitch  black  night. 

Davie  was  sure  he  had  offended  her,  particularly 
when  he  saw  her  hands  clench  and  unclench  slowly, 
her  long  tapering  fingers  giving  the  impression  of  seiz 
ing  upon  something  and  crushing  it.  He  wished  he 
could  say  he  was  sorry  or  something,  but  words  of 
apology  were  difficult.  And  then  she  turned  and  came 
toward  him  again.  Her  cheeks  were  a  little  paler  than 
they  had  been. 

"How  long  have  you  been  in  Segwanga,  Mr.  Tait?" 
she  asked,  resuming  her  seat  with  leisurely  indifference. 

"Oh,  only  seven  months.  Just  a  month  before  poor 
Debenham  disappeared." 

"Disappeared !" 

The  word  was  repeated  eagerly,  as  though  it  antici 
pated  a  story.  Davie,  being  anxious  to  talk  and  to 
please,  obliged  readily. 

"Yes — just  like  smoke  from  a  pipe.  He  was  a -queer 
skate,  always  digging  around  native  villages  after  din 
ner  and  going  off  on  a  ran-dan  all  by  himself.  But  he 
did  it  once  too  often.  Went  out  one  night,  nobody 
knew  where  (nobody  ever  did  know  where  he  went  to) 
and  that  night  he  didn't  come  back.  We  looked  for 
him,  of  course— everybody  did;  but  there  wasn't  a 
chance  in  a  million  that  we'd  find  him  when  he  didn't 
show  up  on  his  own  feet.  And  he  didn't. 

"Chief  Cralla  of  Akerrf  was  quite  a  pal  of  poor 
Deb's,  and  we  knew  he  went  there  very  often.  But 
Cralla  claims  he  wasn't  at  Akerri  that  night,  and  of 
course  everybody  in  his  filthy  town  agrees  with  him. 
You  can't  get  a  Jackrie  to  give  evidence  against  a  Jack- 
rie,  especially  in  a  case  like  that. 

"McClure — he's  my  boss,  Marsden's  agent  at  Seg 
wanga — knows  this  country  like  a  book,  and  he  tore 


MISS  SEVEROID  15 

some  of  the  ju-ju  towns  up  by  the  roots  looking  for 
Debenham.  But  it  wasn't  any  use.  Poor  Deb  hasn't 
come  back  yet,  and  we've  stopped  hoping  he  will." 

Miss  Severoid's  hand  went  out  and  rested  lightly  on 
Davie's  arm. 

"You  knew — this  man — Debenham?" 

Her  voice  was  very  quiet,  and  Davie  could  not  have 
explained  the  sensation  he  had  then. 

He  was  a  little  afraid  of  her;  a  queer  sort  of  fear 
that  was  not  unpleasant,  but  tempting.  It  was  as  if 
the  delicate  fingers  that  were  creeping  down  his  arm 
to  his  hand  were,  like  her  eyes,  charged  with  some 
magnetic  power  that  held  him  still  and  quiet — just 
looking  at  her. 

Many  minutes  seemed  to  pass  before  he  managed  to 
answer : 

"Y-yes — oh,  yes.  We  worked  together.  I  liked 
him,  and  I  think  he  had  a  much  bigger  heart  than  most 
of  the  other  fellows  believed.  They  said  he  was  a 
conceited  kid,  but  he  and  I  were  about  the  same  age, 
so  maybe  I  understood  him  better.  I  know  he  was 
pretty  good  to  me — kind,  you  know,  without  making  a 
fuss  about  it,  and  that  means  a  lot  to  a  greenhorn  in 
the  first  week  or  two." 

Miss  Severoid's  fingers  had  slipped  down  to  his 
hand,  and  he  felt  the  sudden  pressure  of  them  with  the 
same  startling  effects  of  an  electric  shock. 

But  he  did  not  move.     Her  eyes  would  not  let  him. 

He  could  hear  the  engineer  tinkering  with  the  boiler 
and,  somewhere  beyond  the  ligiit.  of  the  little  cabin 
lamp,  the  steady  swish  of  paddles  came  to  his  ears. 

"I  see."  Miss  Severoid's  fingers  released  their  grip 
upon  his  hand  as  if  loath  to  let  it  go. 

Davie  did  not  in  the  least  understand  what  she 
meant.  A  little  confused,  he  began  fumbling  with  his 
helmet  again  for  lack  of  anything  better  to  do. 


16  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

Followed  an  exceptionally  awkward  quiet. 

And  then,  with  such  suddenness  that  they  both 
jumped,  the  wailing  scream  of  a  launch  siren  cut  the 
stillness  like  a  cry  of  a  soul  in  torment.  A  great  black 
thing  that  carried  no  lights  came  out  of  the  murk  like 
a  fantom  and  slipped  alongside  the  Violet  before 
Davie  or  his  companion  had  recovered  from  their  sur 
prise  sufficiently  to  guess  at  anything. 

The  young  man  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  Miss  Sever- 
oid  followed  him  quickly  to  the  cabin  doorway. 

"What's  the  trouble?"  a  large  voice  asked,  and  a  firm 
foot  trod  the  Violet's  deck  forward. 

There  was  no  answer.  The  work  upon  the  boiler 
ceased.  Davie  heard  something  like  a  grban,  but  no 
sound  of  a  struggle.  He  caught  Miss  Severoid's  arm 
impulsively  and  drew  her  back  into  the  cabin. 

"Just — just  sit  down.  It's  all  right.  I'll  talk  to 
him." 

And  his  hand  wenfc  below  his  light  flannel  coat  to  his 
hip. 

Miss  Severoid's  quick  eyes  caught  the  movement 
and  undei%tood  it.  She  emitted  a  smothered  little 
scream,  clutched  Davie's  good  right  arm,  and  held  on 
to  it  as  though  her  life  depended  upon  it. 

"You  mustn't !     It  isn't  so  bad — " 

"Let  go !     For  Heaven's  sake,  Miss  Severoid,  it's — " 

"Quite  right,  young  man,"  came  a  voice  through  the 
open  skylight  above.  "But  Miss  Severoid  has  better 
judgment  than  you  have.  Drop  it !" 

Both  Miss  Severoid  and  Davie  glanced  sharply  up 
ward  and  stood  suddenly  apart,  the  young  man  staring 
foolishly  into  the  broad,  clean-shaven  face  of  a  man 
whose  coal-black  eyes  laughed  down  at  him  derisively, 
and  in  whose  hand  reposed — and  reposed  is  the  word 
— a  revolver  of  most  capable  dimensions. 

Miss  Severoid  backed  away  from  it  instinctively; 


MISS  SEVEROID  17, 

but  she  made  no  sound;  just  gazed  into  the  intruder's 
face  more  in  surprised  interest  than  fear. 

Davie's  revolver  clattered  to  the  cabin  deck. 

"Thanks.     Now  you  can  kick  it  under  the  seat." 

Davie's  obedience  was  sheepish  but  prompt;  and  his 
weapon  had  hardly  vanished  when  the  stranger  disap 
peared  and  appeared  again  in  the  cabin  doorway.  It 
seemed  almost  too  narrow  to  allow  his  massive  shoul 
ders  to  get  through. 

"Hope  I  didn't  frighten  you,  Miss  Severoid?"  he 
apologized,  and  his  revolver  was  in  its  holster.  "My 
name  is  Clavering — at  your  service." 


CHAPTER  .III 

EMULATING   CLAUDE   DUVAL* 

As  he  stood  there,  helmet  in  hand,  the  personifica 
tion  of  cool  ease  and  courtesy,  a  casual  observer  would 
never  have  believed  him  to  be  the  man  report  said  he 
was;  that  he  had  robbed  and  ravaged  and  killed  just 
for  the  love  of  it. 

But  in  riding  breeches  and  puttees,  with  his  soft  blue 
shirt  thrown  open  at  the  neck,  just  hinting  at  the 
breadth  and  depth  of  the  chest  and  the  freedom  of  the 
wild  life  he  led,  he  instantly  gave  the  impression  of  a 
wealth  of  strength  and  an  inordinate  ability  to  do  things 
with  much  speed  and,  probably,  startling  effect. 

One  would  never  have  questioned  his  ability  to  take 
care  of  himself.  A  little  over  six  feet  in  height  and 
built  in  admirable  proportion,  he  radiated  action  and  a 
restless,  untiring  dynamic  force  that  not  only  ignored 
the  laws  of  man  but  seemingly  of  nature  as  well. 

His  features  were  lean,  almost  sharp,  all  the  strength 
and  vivacity  in  his  face  being  centered  in  his  gleaming 
white  teeth  and  in  the  glistening  blackness  of  his  eyes. 
Both  smiled  or  snapped;  in  the  latter  case  his  mouth 
showed  thin  and  somewhat  cruel. 

His  eyebrows  were  heavy,  of  a  darker  shade  than 
his  hair,  which,  closely  trimmed  for  comfort,  was 
rather  thin  above  the  temples. 

Davie  regarded  him  in  mingled  dismay,  admiration, 
and  horror;  but  Miss  Severoicl,  to  whom  the  situation 
was  even  more  strange,  was  neither  dismayed  nor  hor 
rified — simply  interested. 

18 


EMULATING  CLAUDE  DUVAL  19 

She  studied  Clavering  for  a  moment  or  two  as 
though  she  were  but  mildly  questioning  the  reason  for 
the  intrusion;  then,  with  a  slight  inclination  of  the 
head  and  a  smile  that  acknowledged  his  introduction 
of  himself,  she  said  sweetly: 

"You  will  pardon  me  if  I  do  not  quite  understand 
the  meaning  of  these  melodramatic  effects?  I've  just 
arrived,  you  know,  and,  being  led  to  understand  that  I 
was  to  be  prepared  for  anything  in  this  terrible  country, 
I  presume  this  isn't  so  unusual  as  it  seems.  But  might 
I  ask  who  and  what  you  are,  Mr.  Clavering;  and  just 
how  much  service  you  can  be  to  us?  At  present  we 
are  badly  in  need  of  a  launch  that  will  go." 

Davie  was  startled — so  much  so  that  he  transferred 
his  attention  from  Clavering  to  Miss  Severoid,  and  his 
expression  of  indecision  and  amazement  was  comical. 

Clavering's  eyes  narrowed  a  little.  White  women 
he  had  met  with  usually  employed  screams  or  hysterics 
in  situations  of  the  sort. 

"Quite  refreshing,  Miss  Severoid,  I  assure  you,"  he 
approved  with  a  cynical  smile.  "Your  engineer  did 
his  best  to  get  into  the  boiler  when  he  caught  sight  of 
me,  and  your  escort  thought  it  necessary  to  produce 
fire-arms  even  before  he  saw  me.  Which  might  sug 
gest  that  I  am  not  altogether  respectable.  But  if  you 
are  in  need  of  a  launch  and  are  willing  to  use  mine,  I 
shall  be  glad  to  take  you  anywhere  you  wish  to  go." 

"That  isn't  definite  enough,  I'm  afraid,"  Miss  Sever 
oid  returned  with  a  quaint,  alluring  smile.  "You 
don't  look  like  a  desperado.  Might  I  ask  if  you  are 
so  despefate  as  to  warrant  a  price  upon  your  head  ?" 

"Just  five  thousand,"  came  the  reply  easily  and  with 
an  apologetic  note,  as  though  the  amount  were  not 
enough  to  do  him  honor.  "The  launch  I've  got  be 
longs  to  the  commissioner  at  Forcados,  so  you  can  be 
sure  that  it  is  perfectly  sound.  Your  engineer  won't 


20  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

get  over  the  scare  he's  had  for  hours.  Would  you  care 
to  use  it?" 

Two  blue  eyes  met  two  of  black  steadily  for  almost 
a  minute. 

Davie,  whose  mouth  was  open,  shifted  his  attention 
from  one  to  the  other,  trying  to  comprehend  that  silent 
'duel.  It  is  questionable  if  either  of  the  participants 
knew  that  it  was  a  duel  just  then. 

Clavering's  glance  became  doubtful  and  his  smile  a 
little  less  ingratiating. 

Miss  Severoid  laughed — a  low,  soft  ripple  of  en 
joyment  that  sounded  strangely  out  of  place. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Clavering,  I  will — if  the  invitation 
includes  Mr.  Tait?" 

Davie  instantly  looked  as  if  he  hoped  it  would  not. 

"Why,  of  course !  Glad  to  have  Mr.  Tait ;  and  you 
can  remain  here  if  you  like.  I'll  tow  you.  Better  go 
at  once,  I  think.  Don't  you  ?" 

Miss  Severoid  nodded  and  smiled. 

"Very  well." 

Yet  Clavering  did  not  move.  He  stood  in  the  door 
way  undecided,  considering  the  Mission  Lady's  smile. 
For  once  in  his  life  at  least  he  was  ill  at  ease.  He 
seemed  to  lose  several  inches  in  stature  as  he  stood 
there. 

His  expression  was  peculiar.  For  a  man  who  had 
cut  himself  adrift  from  his  own  kind,  to  wallow  in 
native  filth  and  cruelty,  it  was  revolutionary.  It  ad 
mitted,  if  only  very  faintly,  the  possibility  of  regret. 

Then,  without  a  word,  he  wheeled  suddenly  and 
went  out. 

They  heard  him  making  his  way  along  the  deck; 
heard  him  rouse  the  native  engineer  from  his  terror 
ized  stupor,  and  finally,  with  a  slight  preliminary  jerk, 
they  felt  that  they  were  moving. 

Miss  Severoid  looked  at  Davie  and  laughed. 


EMULATING  CLAUDE  DUVAL          21 

"Very  nice  of  him,  don't  you  think  so  ?" 

Davie's  face  said  he  wasn't  sure,  and  he  regarded 
his  companion  as  if  he  thought  she  might  not  be  quite 
sane. 

"Bu-but,  good  Heavens!  You  don't  know  what 
he's  done!" 

"What  has  he  done?  Let's  sit  down  and  you  can 
tell  me  all  about  it.  I  think  his  mouth  is  wicked,  so  I 
am  really  prepared  for  anything  you  say." 

And  Davie,  seeking  very  much  to  impress  her  in  spite 
of  her  "queerness,"  told  her  what  he  knew  of  Har- 
mattan  Clavering's  deeds;  lurid  tales  of  daring  and 
disaster  wreathed  in  smoke  and  dust  and  ashes  and 
blood,  with  the  clatter  of  firearms,  the  yells  of  fiends ; 
mystery  and  silence  and  darkness,  all  mingled  together, 
forming  an  appropriate  background  for  the  evil  genius 
who  stalked  across  a  stage  of  his  own  setting,  like 
Mephistopheles,  in  the  garb  of  a  gentleman. 

Some  of  the  stories  Davie  might  have  told  had  to  be 
omitted  because  his  auditor  was  a  lady,  but  the  rest 
were  bad  enough.  Yet  Miss  Severoid  listened,  a  little 
paler  of  cheek  perhaps,  but  showing  none  of  the  horror 
befitting  the  occasion. 

When  Davie  had  exhausted  his  store  of  tales  she 
seemed  hardly  to  be  paying  as  much  attention  as  she 
might  have. 

She  sat  very  still  with  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap, 
evidently  thinking  deeply. 

The  Forcados  commissioner's  launch  which  Claver- 
ing  had  come  by  in  a  manner  Davie  could  easily 
imagine  was  a  large  and  speedy  craft  that,  under  the 
outlaw's  guidance,  consumed  distance  and  navigated 
the  winding,  pitch-black  creeks  like  a  spirit  of  the  dark 
ness,  trailing  a  light  behind. 

The  Violet  rocked  and  tumbled  in  her  wake,  and 
Davie  thought  that  the  jolting,  swaying  motion,  com- 


22  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

bined  with  the  stories  he  had  told,  had  made  the  Mis 
sion  Lady  a  little  sick,  since  she  was  so  unenthusiastic 
and  essayed  no  immediate  comments  upon  the  charac 
ter  of  the  man  in  the  launch  ahead. 

He  was  on  the  point  of  suggesting  the  freer  air  of 
the  deck  when  she  looked  up  at  him  and  asked : 

"You  are  sure  all  that  is  true?  You  really  believe 
that  he  has  killed  people — in  cold  blood  ?" 

"Well,  I'm  only  telling  what  I've  heard,"  Davie  de 
fended.  "I've  never  seen  him  do  it,  of  course.  But 
McClure  says  a  man  can't  pillage  and  plunder  and  live 
as  the  Jackrie  does  without  having  to  do  some  very 
nasty /hings  now  and  then  to  keep  his  grip. 

"And  fear  is  the  only  master  these  beasts  know. 
You  can't  treat  them  decently.  They  won't  let  you. 
If  you  are  good  to  them  they  think  you  are  a  fool — 
soft,  you  know — and  they'll  walk  all  over  you.  A 
punch  on  the  jaw  will  put  more  Christianity  into  them 
than  the  Lord's  prayer." 

Then  Davie  remembered  that  he  was  talking  to  a 
mission  lady.  "Oh — I — er — I  beg  pardon !  I  forgot 
that—" 

"I  taught  the  Lord's  prayer  ?  But  that  doctrine  isn't 
original  with  you,  is  it  ?  You  are  quoting  the  Mr.  Mc 
Clure  you  mentioned,  are  you  not?" 

"Well — yes — he  said  that,"  Davie  admitted,  color 
ing;  then  added  desperately:  "But  1  know  it's  the 
truth.  Mac  rarely  says  anything  that  isn't." 

"I  see.  And  what  does  Mr.  McClure  think  of  Mr. 
Clavering?" 

"He'd  shoot  him  on  sight." 

"On  principle,  or  for  that  five  thousand  Mr.  Claver 
ing  spoke  about?" 

"Just  for  personal  satisfaction,  I  fancy.  Clavering 
got  away  with  a  shipment  of  Marsden  &  Co.'s  oil  once, 
and  Mac's  never  forgotten  it." 


' 


EMULATING  CLAUDE  DUVAL  23 

Davie  stooped,  then  got  down  on  his  knees  to  bur 
row  below  the  seat  for  his  revolver.  The  Mission 
Lady  watched  him  quietly  till  he  straightened,  then 
held  out  her  hand. 

"Give  me  that,  please." 

"Wh-what — the  revolver?" 

"Yes,  please." 

Davie  hesitated  a  moment,  then  handed  the  weapon 
over  to  her  in  a  mechanical  fashion. 

"Thank  you,"  Miss  Severoid  acknowledged,  and 
made  Davie  gasp  as  she  put  the  weapon  into  a  small 
leather  hand-bag  she  carried.  "I'm  just  afraid  you  are 
too  loyal  to  Mr.  McClure  to  resist  the  temptation  to  be 
discourteous  to  our  host  if  the  chance  offered — and 
I've  a  suspicion  that  he'd  shoot  first  and  straighter, 
anyway.  So  we'd  better  let  him  go  this  time,  hadn't 
we?"  " 

With  a  pleasant  little  smile,  and,  taking  the  hand 
bag  with  her,  she  passed  him  and  went  out  on  deck. 

Not  at  all  sure  of  his  attitude,  Davie  watched  her 
go;  then  followed  hesitatingly,  doubtful  whether  he 
should  or  not.  He  stopped  as  he  saw  Miss  Severoid 
standing  in  the  Violet's  prow,  looking  straight  ahead 
at  the  shadowy  outline  of  the  leading  launch. 

He  felt  that  he  would  be  intruding  if  he  joined  her. 
There  was  something  in  her  fixed  and  motionless  atti 
tude  which  suggested  that  she  wished  to  be  alone.  He 
experienced  an  unpleasant  sensation  that  he  had  sud 
denly  become  a  super  in  the  little  drama  that  was  like 
a  page  from  the  life  of  Claude  DuvaL 

Miss  Severoid's  conduct  was  even  more  surprising 
than  Clavering's  cool  intention  to  take  them  to  Seg- 
wanga,  where  the  new-born  consulate,  a  detachment  of 
native  troops  and  police,  and  every  trader  on  the  creek 
would  welcome  him  with  enough  bullets  to  make  a 
sieve  of  him — that  is,  if  they  knew  he  were  coming. 


24  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

One  expected  Clavering  to  do  spectacular  things  like 
that.  If  he  were  to  walk  into  the  district  commission 
er's  office  and  offer  the  D.  C.  a  cigar,  Davie  would  not 
have  been  so  surprised  as  he  was  while  he  contemplated 
the  Mission  Lady's  back  and  wondered  what  on  earth 
she  was  thinking  about. 

And  as  Davie  watched  and  puzzled  his  young  brain, 
Segwanga  was  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  everv 
moment. 

Winding  in  and  out,  missing  lazily  moving  native 
canoes  by  a  hairbreadth  and  causing  their  occupants  to 
call  aloud  for  the  protection  of  their  river  gods,  plung 
ing  on  through  a  darkness  one  might  have  cut  with  a 
knife,  with  the  bank  of  bush  upon  either  side  following 
them  relentlessly  every  inch  of  the  way  like  a  black 
ghost,  they  finally  whirled  into  the  broad  Segwanga 
Creek. 

Swaying  a  little  with  the  motion  of  the  launch,  Miss 
Severoid  still  stood  in  the  Violet's  prow,  and  Davie  re 
mained  leaning  against  the  rail,  wondering  what  the 
denouement  might  be. 

Segwanga  Creek  was  about  half  a  mile  wide.  Upon 
the  left  bank,  stretching  a  little  over  a  mile  to  the 
Saganna  curve,  were  the  seven  trading  stations,  the 
consulate,  and  the  mission. 

First,  and  directly  opposite  the  narrow  creek  from 
which  the  launches  emerged,  was  Carey  &  Co.'s  "fac 
tory" — the  origin  of  the  word  "factory"  being  some 
what  of  a  mystery,  since  none  of  the  trading  stations 
ever  manufactured  anything.  Then  came  Bates  & 
Mahler's,  then  Perkins  &  Gray's,  then  the  mission, 
which  was  separated  from  Marsden  &  Co.'s  "beach"  by 
a  small  creek  that  was  crossed  by  a  rather  indifferent 
wooden  bridge. 

Beyond  Marsden's  was  the  consulate,  a  compara 
tively  recent  addition  to  the  settlement's  importance; 


EMULATING  CLAUDE  DUVAL          25 

and  beyond  that  again  came  the  African  Produce  Asso 
ciation,  and,  lastly  among  the  whites,  the  German  rep 
resentatives  of  Bach  &  Co.,  of  Hamburg. 

It  was  shortly  after  ten  o'clock. 

Hurricane  lanterns,  swinging  idly  in  the  hands  of 
patrolling  watch-boys,  could  be  seen  moving  to  and 
fro  upon  the  water-front  of  every  station.  Dark 
shapes  of  huge  storage-houses  loomed  up  behind  them. 
In  the  white  men's  living  quarters — always  one  flight 
up  to  get  away  from  white  ants  and  the  like — shaded 
oil-lamps  shed  their  light  upon  the  card-table,  the 
month-old  newspaper,  the  weekly  letter  home,  the 
business  report,  or  the  meeting  of  congenial  spirits  in 
a  convivial  mood. 

Such  meetings  were  constant,  and  were  often  fol 
lowed  by  severe  pains  in  the  back  of  the  head  and  a 
vast  consumption  of  quinin  pills. 

Viewed  from  the  river,  however,  Segwanga  was  a 
dark  and  dreary  prospect.  A  few  lights  amid  a  bank 
of  gloom;  spectral  shapes  of  indistinct  outbuildings; 
the  bobbing  lights  the  watch-boys  carried — and  silence. 

Occasionally  the  echo  of  loud  laughter  came  faintly 
across  the  water,  but  that  was  all.  Had  Davie  been 
able  to  see  the  Mission  Lady's  face  he  might  have  ob 
served  her  lips  form  a  taut,  pained  line,  and  a  tiny 
handkerchief  was  carried  surreptitiously  up  to  her  eyes, 
to  dab  them  with  almost  vicious  impatience  at  her 
weakness. 

Clavering's  launch — or  rather  the  one  he  had  ac 
quired — made  little  sound,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  care 
whether  it  did  or  not.  He  steered  directly  and  with 
out  any  attempt  at  concealment  to  the  little  mission 
wharf. 

Running  alongside  it,  he  allowed  the  Violet  to  ease 
in  upon  the  tow-line  till  she,  too,  huddled  against  the 
wharf  close  to  the  landing-steps. 


26  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

Two  watch-boys  with  insufficient  lanterns  hovered 
like  gnomes  overhead,  peering  down  at  the  mystery  of 
two  launches,  one  of  which  carried  no  lights. 

A  colored  maid  chattered  an  endless  stream  of  ques 
tions  behind  them.  The  Rev.  James  Steel  and  his  ex 
tremely  powerful  wife  were  hurrying  across  the  mis 
sion  beach  to  welcome  their  new  assistant. 

She  had  turned  leisurely  from  her  place  in  the  Vio 
let's  prow  and  was  dubiously  considering  the  landing- 
steps,  tipon  which  Davie  stood,  ready  to  assist  her  over 
the  rail. 

She  put  out  her  hand,  and  Davie  had  almost  seized 
it,  when  a  soft,  cat-like  step  sounded  behind  her. 

Wheeling  instantly,  with  a  little  gasp  of  surprise, 
she  felt  herself  suddenly  swept  into  two  steel-like  arms 
that  held  her  powerless — and  apparently  speechless, 
too. 

"My  toll,  Miss  Severoid,"  Clavering  whispered 
softly,  and  in  a  second  had  tilted  up  her  face  so  that 
she  looked  straight  into  the  glowing  blackness  of  his 
eyes. 

She  had  a  cat  at  home  with  eyes  like  that. 

Davie  stared  and  almost  fell  off  the  landing-steps. 

But  Clavering  was  in  no  hurry.  He  bent  his  head 
very  slowly,  conscious  of  his  strength;  and  he  seemed 
for  a  moment  or  two  to  be  gloating  over  his  victim's 
physical  weakness. 

She  did  not  struggle,  though  he  could  feel  her 
shrink  in  his  grasp  as  his  lips  drew  nearer  and  nearer 
to  her  own. 

Davie,  powerless  and  frantic,  whispered  something 
excitedly  to  one  of  the  Kroo  watch-1  >oys,  who  turned 
and  vanished. 

The  young  man  was  on  the  point  ot  jumping  from 
the  step  to  Miss  Severoid's  assistance  when  he  saw 
Clavering' s  head  jerk  upward  and  heard  him  give  vent 


27 

to  a  short,  sharp  oath  that  died  in  a  breathless  silence, 
as  the  outlaw  clapped  his  hand  to  his  belt — where  his 
revolver  should  have  been. 

Miss  Severoid  had  it,  and  the  point  of  the  barrel 
was  pressing  uncomfortably  into  his  ribs. 

But  Davie  did  not  see  that.  He  could  not  under 
stand  why  Clavering  did  not  kiss  his  "prisoner." 

"Turn !"  she  said  very  quietly. 

Clavering  did  not  move ;  not  even  the  left  arm  that 
was  wound  about  her  shoulders. 

In  the  dim  light  it  was  almost  impossible  for  those 
on  the  wharf  to  know  what  was  happening,  and  for  a 
few  brief  seconds  the  two  were  a  world  unto  them 
selves.  Davie's  white,  open-mouthed  countenance,  the 
dusky  faces  above  the  flickering  hurricane  lights,  the 
approaching  footsteps  of  the  missionary  and  his  wife, 
were  things  apart. 

Clavering  smiled  and  murmured: 

"A  gray  hag  in  Walla's  town  told  me  once  that  a 
woman  would  one  day  lead  me  to  the  nearest  mango- 
tree  with  a  good  thick  rope.  Just  move  that  gun  an 
inch  or  so  higher  and  shoot.  I'd  hate  hanging — sure 
of  it." 

"Remove  your  arm  and  turn/*  came  the  passionless 
command. 

"Which  way?" 

"Toward  your  launch." 

"Oh — I  see!"  The  arm  slipped  slowly  from  Miss 
Severoid's  shoulder,  and  Clavering  laughed  oddly. 
"Thanks,  very  much.  You  are  a  wonderful  woman !" 

Suddenly  a  bell  on  the  mission  beach  rang  furiously, 
and  kept  on  ringing.  Davie,  still  confused,  leaped  up 
the  steps,  plunged  past  the  missionary  and  his  wife, 
and  vanished  toward  an  avenue  of  cocoanut-palms  and 
the  little  wooden  bridge  leading  to  Marsden's  beach. 

Other  bells  began  to  ring  their  answer,  one  by  one; 


28  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

a  clamor  of  sound  that  was  deafening  after  so  deep  a 
silence. 

Men's  voices  leaped  into  abrupt,  shouting  life,  and 
one  could  hear  the  padding  of  many  feet  upon  the 
greasy  chicoco  as  the  settlement  answered  the  call  of 
the  mission  bell's  alarm. 

Clavering  marched  along  the  Violet's  deck  ahead  of 
Miss  Severoid  without  altering  his  pace;  climbed  into 
the  Forcados  commissioner's  launch,  turned  and 
bowed,  and  called  back  amiably  out  of  the  murk : 

'Thank  you  again.  Apologies  are  useless,  I  sup 
pose.  Au  revoir!" 

"Good-by !"     There  was  no  life  in  it. 

The  revolver  spun  through  the  darkness  and  clat 
tered  to  the  deck  at  Clavering's  feet,  and  Miss  Sever 
oid,  tight-lipped  and  white  as  chalk,  turned  in  leisurely 
fashion  toward  the  steps  again.  There  the  missionary 
and  his  wife,  all  unconscious  of  what  she  had  done, 
awaited  her  with  welcoming  arms. 

Before  she  reached  them  Clavering  and  his  launch 
had  slipped  out  from  the  wharf,  and  by  the  time  she 
had,  with  the  missionary's  assistance,  negotiated  a  safe 
landing  the  outlaw  was  lost  in  the  darkness  of  mid 
stream. 

The  siren  screamed  blatant  defiance — once,  twice, 
thrice — and  wailed  dismally  into  silence. 

And  though  Segwanga,  to  a  man,  searched  for  him 
with  every  available  launch  on  the  river,  into  the  gray 
of  the  morning,  it  did  not  find  him. 

But  then  it  had  not  expected  to. 

The  harmattan  had  made  but  one  more  claim  to  his 
title. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    MESSENGER 

SEGWANGA  talked  of  Clavering's  latest  caper  and  of 
the  new  Mission  Lady's  rather  hazy  share  in  it  for  sev 
eral  days,  till  the  sacking  of  an  oil-yard  at  Saganna 
gave  the  community  something  else  to  chalk  up  against 
the  irrepressible  outlaw. 

That  was  Clavering's  way.  He  rarely  gave  the 
public  time  to  get  properly  acquainted  with  one  sur 
prise  before  he  furnished  it  with  another. 

Upon  the  day  following  her  eventful  arrival  Miss 
Severoid  returned  Davie  Tait's  revolver  with  an  apolo 
getic  note  that  concluded  whimsically : 

"I  feel  as  if  I  owe  you  five  thousand  pounds." 

Remembering  the  opportunity  he  had  had  while 
standing  upon  the  mission  wharf  steps,  Davie,  who 
had  not  admitted  the  cause  of  his  defenseless  condition 
to  any  one,  felt  that  she  was  right.  But  he  murmured 
"Rats!"  quite  manfully,  and  tried  to  forget  about  it. 
Not  the  five  thousand  pounds,  but  Miss  Severoid. 

Which  was  not  so  easy  as  it  seemed. 

Apart  from  the  note  to  Davie,  Miss  Severoid  said 
nothing.  That  is,  nothing  of  importance,  not  even  to 
the  missionary  and  his  wife,  who,  of  course,  plied  her 
with  natural  and  pertinent  questions  upon  the  matter. 

She  said  she  had  been  "terribly  frightened."  But, 
naively  admitting  that  since  the  experience  was  safely 
over  she  would  not  have  missed  it  for  worlds,  she  pro 
ceeded  apparently  to  set  her  mind  and  energies  to  the 
business  of  becoming  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the 

29 


30  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

routine  of  missionary  work  and  with  her  immediate 
surroundings. 

The  latter  were  rather  enervating,  though  the  mis 
sion-house,  built  of  galvanized  iron  and  lined  with 
pitch-pine,  was  a  modest  and  comfortable  residence, 
to  which  she  took  kindly. 

But  the  mission  hall  was  a  dreary  sort  of  place — 
another  galvanized  iron  structure  that  became  intol 
erably  hot  as  the  blinding  tropical  sun  beat  unmerci 
fully  down  upon  it. 

There  was  a  mud  hut  of  large  dimensions  at  the 
rear  of  the  clearing,  and,  though  the  native  help  had 
had  more  civilized  quarters  erected  for  them  imme 
diately  behind  the  mission-house,  the  majority  of  them 
preferred  the  mud  hut. 

It  was  a  small  clearing;  much  smaller  than  any  of 
the  trading  beaches,  all  of  which  had  been  solidified  by 
chicoco,  which  is  a  greasy,  peatlike  clay  that  proves 
excellent  material  for  the  purpose  of  converting 
swamps  into  habitable  ground. 

The  mission  was  bounded  on  the  right  and  rear  by 
the  sullen,  unchanging  bush,  and  upon  the  front  and 
left  by  water.  Beyond  the  bank,  of  green  on  the 
right,  and  reached  by  a  bush-path  scarcely  broader  than 
the  sole  of  a  flat,  native  foot,  lay  Perkins  &  Gray's, 
and  upon  the  left,  by  way  of  an  avenue  of  coconut- 
palms  and  across  the  little  wooden  bridge  that  spanned 
the  narrow  creek  already  referred  to,  was  Marsden  & 
Co.'s,  the  largest  and  busiest  trading  station  in  the  set 
tlement. 

Miss  Severoid  could  see  it  from  her  corner  of  the 
mission  veranda;  the  long,  squat  kernel-house  in  the 
foreground,  and  the  large,  two-storied  residence,  built 
upon  raised  ground  behind  it ;  the  shop  on  the  ground 
floor,  the  white  living  quarters  above. 

Another  huge  storehouse  that  stretched  almost  from 


THE  MESSENGER  31 

the  concrete  breakwater  to  the  consulate  boundary  line 
contained  everything  from  Chicago  canned  meats  to 
coffins.  The  former  not  infrequently  led  to  the  latter. 

All  the  buildings  were  of  galvanized  iron  and 
painted  a  soft  green. 

To  the  left  of  the  storehouse  was  a  great  roofed 
yard,  rilled  with  lumber  and  empty  casks;  and  casks 
that  were  filled  with  oil  and  earthenware  and  ships' 
biscuits. 

Three  coopers  and  two  carpenters  from  Accra  were 
kept  busy  from  dawn  to  darkness,  and  two  young  white 
men,  whom  Miss  Severoid  did  not  know,  seemed  to  be 
incessantly  moving  about  the  beach,  paying  out  cargo, 
purchasing  oil  or  rubber,  or  attending  to  the  thousand 
and  one  sweltering  little  details  that  fall  to  the  lot  of 
the  beach  clerk. 

She  could  see  the  pack  of  canoes,  laden  with  produce 
or  filled  with  "pay,"  huddling  the  concrete  breakwater, 
while  their  owners,  with  their  women  and  boys, 
swarmed  upon  the  beach  like  black  ants.  Sometimes 
she  caught  sight  of  Davie  Tait  buying  kernels  in  the 
smothering  heat  of  the  kernel-house. 

But  it  was  to  a  punkah-cooled  corner  of  Marsden  & 
Co.'s  veranda  that  her  attention  most  frequently  drift 
ed — the  corner  overlooking  the  river,  and  which  was 
shaded  by  the  leafy  expanse  of  a  great  mango-tree  that 
reared  its  broad  head  past  the  veranda  and  tried  to  peep 
over  the  roof. 

In  that  shady  corner,  fanned  by  an  artificial  zephyr 
produced  by  a  gently  swinging  punkah,  she  saw  a  giant 
of  a  man,  who  rarely  left  a  great  Madeira  chair,  parley 
like  an  East  Indian  nabob  with  all  sorts  and  conditions 
of  natives,  and  with  the  air  of  one  accustomed  to  being 
feared  and  respected  and  always  obeyed. 

The  Madeira  chair  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  judgment- 
seat,  and  the  big  man's  decisions,  whatever  they  were 


32  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

about,  were  evidently  accepted  as  final.  Miss  Sever- 
oid  watched  him  interestedly  and  guessed  that  he  was 
McClure — the  man  who  would  shoot  Clavering  on 
sight. 

After  distantly  studying  his  movements  for  a  while 
she  finally  believed  he  would. 

Her  work  was  novel  and  interesting;  the  natives 
queer,  half  clothed,  and  childish.  They  came  to  the 
mission  hall  in  motley  swarms,  regarded  her  with  gap 
ing  intentness,  and  jabbered  among  themselves  their 
conclusions  regarding  her. 

They  appeared  to  have  a  deep-seated  respect  for  the 
Rev.  James  Steel,  who  was  a  tall,  gaunt,  kindly  man,  of 
very  few  words.  His  wife,  almost  as  tall  and  much 
larger,  was  even  more  kindly  and  certainly  more  talka 
tive.  With  her  husband  she  had  been  in  several  parts 
of  the  West  Coast  for  a  number  of  years,  ignoring  the 
woman's  usual  privilege  of  going  home  during  the 
rainy  season. 

The  deadly,  fever-laden  climate  actually  seemed  to 
agree  with  her. 

She  "adopted"  Miss  Severoid  at  once,  and  some 
times  during  that  first  week,  surreptitiously  studying 
the  new  assistant's  strong  and  beautiful  face,  the 
kindly  soul's  eyes  became  sad.  She  told  her  husband 
in  strictest  confidence  as  they  were  seated  in  their 
private  corner  of  the  mission  veranda  one  evening  that 
she  was  afraid  Miss  Severoid  was  not  the  type  for  the 
work  they  had  to  do. 

"She  is  too  beautiful,  James.  They'll  be  gaping  at 
her  face  instead  of  paying  attention  to  their  letters.  I 
saw  our  Beau  Brummel  hanging  about  the  hall  door 
yesterday  morning  just  before  school  hour,  and  he 
actually  ogled  at  the  girl  as  we  passed  him.  He  was 
there  again  this  morning.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  to 


THE  MESSENGER  33 

find  him  in  the  class  to-morrow,  even  though  he  is  a 
chief/' 

The  missionary  lowered  a  month-old  newspaper  an 
inch  or  two,  and  looked  over  the  top  of  his  glasses  at 
his  wife. 

"Chief  Cralla  of  Akerri,  you  mean?" 

"Of  course !  And  looking  more  spick  and  span  than 
ever.  Miss  Severoid  asked  who  he  was,  and  this  morn 
ing  seemed  anxious  to  talk  to  him.  There  is  something 
queer  and  uncanny  about  her — something  mysterious. 
She  is  too  quiet.  There  is  something  going  on  behind 
those  big,  blue  eyes  of  hers  incessantly,  and  when  she 
looks  at  me — at  me,  James,  and  I'm  an  old  woman — 
I  feel  weak,  positively  her  inferior  in  everything. 
Haven't  you  noticed  it  ?" 

"Nonsense,  Martha!"  the  missionary  deprecated, 
but  his  tone  lacked  conviction.  "She's  only  a  child." 

"Child,  fiddlesticks!  She's  twenty-five  if  she's  a 
day — a  woman  of  experience,  and  a  beautiful  one,  with 
a  will  of  her  own.  She'll  have  Segwanga  at  her  feet 
before  a  month  is  gone,  and  it  won't  be  the  least  bit  of 
a  novelty  to  her  either.  She's  accustomed  to  it.  Any 
one  can  see  that.  When  she  took  tifBn  with  us  this 
afternoon,  you  asked  her  three  times  if  she  had  had 
any  sugar — and  you  never  were  that  absent-minded 
over  me  in  your  life !" 

Steel  laughed  and,  putting  his  paper  quietly  aside, 
groped  in  the  semi-darkness  of  a  green-shaded  reading- 
lamp  for  his  wife's  wonderfully  soft  but  serviceable 
hand  and,  finding  it,  sat  very  still  and  quiet. 

The  watch-boy,  passing  with  a  scuffling  gait  below 
the  veranda,  sang  a  plaintive  three-lined  dirge  to  the 
moon.  Chief  Cralla's  great  canoe,  with  a  native  grass- 
mat  awning  overhead,  dipped  down  the  silver,  glinting 


34  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

river  toward  Akerri,  to  the  rhythmic  swish  of  forty 
paddles. 

And  Miss  Severoid,  who  had  retired  to  her  rooms 
upon  the  other  side  of  the  house  after  dinner,  upon  the 
plea  of  having  letters  to  write,  lay  at  full  length,  face 
downward,  upon  her  bed,  crushing  a  small,  white  piece 
of  paper  in  her  hand. 

It  had  come  through  her  open  windows  barely  fif 
teen  minutes  before,  and  the  note  read : 

You  most  wonderful  of  women,  this  is  true  homage,  and  in 
spite  of  a  certain  prophecy  I  told  you  of  1  am  tempting  fate 
again — and  you.  The  freedom  you  gifted  me  is  of  little  impor 
tance  to  me  if  it  is  of  no  interest  to  you  what  I  do  with  it. 

Why  did  you  let  me  go  free? 

If  there  is  any  answer  to  that  question,  Chief  Cralla  is  my 
friend,  and  yours.  G.  C. 

Miss  Severoid  did  not  sleep  very  well  that  night. 

Next  morning,  a  little  paler  than  usual,  returning  to 
her  rooms  after  breakfasting  with  the  missionary  and 
his  wife,  she  glanced  expectantly  out  of  her  windows 
at  the  jabbering,  shuffling  mob  of  natives  who,  in  their 
multi-colored  best,  were  gathering  by  way  of  Mars- 
den's  and  the  little  wooden  bridge  to  attend  the  morn 
ing  class. 

The  majority  of  them  came  with  childlike  curiosity, 
always  expecting  something  new  and  startling.  Then, 
when  the  class  was  over  and  they  had  learned  the 
eighth  commandment  once  more,  they  would  disperse 
to  the  several  trading  beaches  and  instinctively  steal 
what  they  could. 

In  the  midst  of  that  greasy  crew,  resplendent  in  sun- 
helmet  and  white  flannel  coat,  with  a  gorgeous  skirted 
cloth  trailing  behind  him,  Chief  Cralla  strode  majes 
tically  toward  the  mission  hall. 

Time  and  again  he  had  to  stop  and  accept  the  kneel 
ing  obeisance  which  is  the  due  of  a  chief  when  greeted 


THE  MESSENGER  35 

by  the  smaller  fry  among  his  people.  Miss  Severoid, 
watching  him,  seemed  to  be  weighing  him  carefully  in 
the  balance. 

When  she  turned  and  went  slowly  to  her  little  writ 
ing-table,  her  eyes  had  no  warmth  in  them.  Deliber 
ately,  as  though  she  was  signing  some  one's  death- 
warrant,  she  wrote  upon  a  single  sheet  of  thin,  foreign 
note-paper : 

Isn't  it  rather  cowardly  to  ask  me  to  answer  any  questions 
through  a  colored  medium  of  Chief  Cralla's  type? 

Suppose,  for  instance,  some  one  were  to  see  me  give  this  note 
to  him?  But  then,  men  rarely  do  think  of  the  woman's  danger. 
They  are  too  busy  planning  to  evade  their  own. 

I  am  sorry  you  are  such  a  disappointment.    Good-by. 

Without  even  initialing  it,  she  rolled  it  up  into  a  little 
ball  and  went  back  to  the  windows.  She  caught  the 
watchful,  oily  chief's  eye  almost  immediately,  and 
though  others  saw  her  there,  and  grimaced  up  at  her 
and  greeted  her  in  Jackrie  over  and  over  again,  like 
this :  "Doh — doh-doh — doh — doh,"  none  but  Cralla 
understood  what  she  meant  when  she  tossed  a  small, 
white  pellet  a  few  inches  into  the  air  and  caught  it 
again. 

She  did  that  several  times.  When  she  was  sure 
that  Cralla  really  understood,  she  donned  her  helmet, 
joined  Mrs.  Steel  and  went  sedately  with  her  toward 
the  mission  hall. 

The  chief's  tawny,  un-ethiopian  face  was  wreathed 
in  a  bland  Ethiopian  smile  as  they  approached,  and  he 
doffed  his  helmet  as  to  the  manner  born,  displaying  the 
dignity  of  his  gray  head  until  they  had  passed. 

Mrs.  Steel  was  plainly  disturbed,  and  Miss  Severoid, 
glancing  into  Cralla's  face  for  a  second,  looked  quickly 
away — also  disturbed.  His  eyes  frightened  her  a  lit 
tle.  They  were  so  black  and  shifty  and  covetous,  and 
the  puttylike  lumps  on  his  forehead  and  cheeks  looked 


36  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

more  prominent  and  unsightly  than  ever.  In  fact,  she 
had  hardly  noticed  them  before. 

But  for  all  her  distrust,  a  small,  white  paper  pellet 
dropped  unostentatiously  at  his  naked  feet,  and  his  left 
foot  slid  over  it  instantly,  but  without  haste. 

For  a  few  moments,  still  following  Miss  Severoid's 
trim  figure  with  half-closed  eyes,  his  toes  worked  con 
vulsively. 

Then,  with  an  expressive  Jackrie  grunt  of  satisfac 
tion,  he  shuffled  away,  leaving  no  pellet  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  V 

IN    SEARCH    OF    PROTECTION 

THAT  afternoon,  in  the  cool  of  the  day  after  four 
o'clock,  Davie  Tait  was  standing  at  the  kernel-house 
door,  idly  watching  his  two  kernel-boys,  in  shameful 
nakedness,  chasing  a  mango-fly  with  their  loin-cloths. 

Mango-flies  have  to  be  chased,  or  they  will  sting  and 
lay  their  eggs  under  one's  skin;  and  the  eggs,  in  the 
natural  course  of  events,  hatch — which  is  a  painful 
process  for  the  stung. 

A  group  of  small,  native  traders  squatted  under  the 
kernel-house  awning  counting  their  pay  for  produce 
they  had  sold  earlier  in  the  day.  The  pay  consisted  of 
piece-cloth,  gin,  iron  cooking-pots,  rice,  salt,  and  other 
necessities  of  life,  which  would  be  sold  the  following 
day  at  the  native  markets  and  once  more  converted,  at 
a  profit,  into  palm-nut  kernels,  palm  oil,  or  rubber. 

The  group,  evidently  composed  of  a  "pool,"  was 
having  difficulty  in  arriving  at  a  division  satisfactory 
to  all  parties,  and  they  jabbered  and  screeched  and 
gesticulated  at  one  another,  always  seeming  on  the 
point  of  a  fight. 

Lack  of  an  adequate  vocabulary  made  it  necessary 
for  them  to  use  their  hands  and  lungs  to  the  best  pos 
sible  advantage  so  as  to  make  their  meaning  quite 
clear. 

Apart  from  the  group  a  mother  was  industriously 
shaving  the  top  of  a  small,  wool-covered  head  with  a 
very  poor  razor,  indulging  her  artistic  fancy  by  block 
ing  out  her  offspring's  hair  into  oddly  shaped  tufts  that 

37 


38  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

reminded  Davie  of  the  trimming  of  a  French  poodle. 
The  child,  little  more  than  an  infant  in  arms,  was  bawl 
ing  lusty  objection,  to  which  no  one  paid  any  heed. 

Several  Kroo  boys,  the  laborers  of  the  trading  sta 
tions,  acted  as  scavengers,  clearing  the  beach  of  refuse 
after  the  day's  business.  The  canoes  moored  under 
the  lea  of  'the  breakwater  had  thinned  out  until  Davie 
could  easily  have  counted  them. 

A  few  black  and  native  waifs  were  enjoying  a  swim 
in  the  swift-running  creek,  using  the  oil  wharf  as  a 
diving-board.  As  one  of  them,  swinging  out  over  the 
water  at  the  end  of  the  hoisting-chain  of  the  hand- 
crane,  dangled  and  capered  like  his  near  relative  the 
monkey,  then  dropped  with  a  blood-curdling  yell  and 
a  splash  on  top  of  a  hapless  companion,  Davie  saw  a 
trim  figure  in  white  emerge  from  the  palm  grove  lead 
ing  to  the  mission  beach  and  step  across  the  little  wood 
en  bridge. 

The  oil  clerk,  coming  from  the  yard  behind  the 
wharf  at  that  moment,  paused  to  remonstrate  forcibly 
with  the  bathing  urchins  for  tampering  with  his  hand- 
crane.  He  used  both  tongue  and  feet  to  rapid  and 
effective  advantage,  his  language  making  dark-blue 
incisions  in  the  sultry  atmosphere. 

Then,  glancing  toward  the  bridge,  he  stopped  quite 
suddenly  and  his  thin,  fever-yellowed  face  took  on  a 
deep-red  hue  that  spread  below  the  soft  collar  of  his 
shirt  and  to  the  roots  of  what  little  hair  his  stuffy  pith 
helmet  had  allowed  him  to  keep.  He  vanished  hur 
riedly  into  the  oil  yard  again  and  lost  himself  in  a 
maze  of  lumber  and  casks,  while  a  big,  sandy-haired 
man,  leaning  over  the  rail  of  the  house  veranda  above 
the  shop,  grinned  and  departed  hastily  to  the  Madeira 
chair  in  the  mango-shaded  corner  overlooking  the  river. 

As  for  Davie,  he  instantly  wished  he  had  put  on  the 
gray-flannel  trousers  his  boy  had  laid  out  for  him  at 


IN  SEARCH  OF  PROTECTION  39 

noon.  The  white  ducks  he  wore  were  disreputably 
streaked  with  oil  and  black  with  kernel  dust,  and  his 
serviceable  working  shirt  had  just  that  afternoon  be 
come  partly  separated  from  its  neckband  in  a  rumpus 
with  a  husky  kernel  thief  whom  Davie's  accurate  right 
foot  had  finally  precipitated  into  the  river. 

Altogether  the  young  man  felt  uncomfortably  dirty, 
and  Miss  Severoid  looked  exactly  the  reverse. 

Her  helmet  had  been  put  aside  for  the  day.  A  broad- 
brimmed  panama  had  taken  its  place  and,  in  white 
from  head  to  foot,  with  the  faintest  touch  of  color  at 
her  throat,  she  would  have  been  as  fascinatingly  con 
spicuous  in  a  crowd. 

Alone,  and  the  only  young  white  woman  within 
Heaven  only  knew  how  many  miles,  she  was  raised 
upon  a  pedestal  instinctively  and  at  once. 

Watching  her  approach,  and  coloring  behind  the 
dust  and  streaking  perspiration-marks  that  gave  his 
face  a  "working"  appearance,  Davie  was  quite  sure 
that  he  loved  her,  or  would  very  soon.  But  when, 
smiling  sweetly  and  bowing  from  afar,  she  went  right 
on  to  the  stairs  leading  up  to  the  house  veranda,  he  felt 
an  unaccountable  desire  to  sit  down. 

It  was  a  terrible  disappointment,  and  Davie  felt  it  so 
keenly  that,  before  he  was  aware  of  it,  he  was  discours 
ing  to  himself  upon  the  ingratitude  and  fickleness  of 
womankind,  of  whom  Miss  Severoid  was  no  better 
than  her  sisters. 

A  very  small  and  very  shiny  black  person  met  Miss 
Severoid  at  the  top  of  the  veranda  stairs.  His  name 
was  Agigi,  and  his  age  was  as  much  of  a  mystery  as  his 
smooth  baby  face  that  glowed  with  innocence  or,  as  the 
occasion  sometimes  demanded,  became  splendid  in 
haughty  indifference. 

He  was  McClure's  special  henchman — a  child  valet 
who  could  serve  a  liqueur  at  a  look  or  guard  his  mas- 


40  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

ter's  privacy  against  any  onslaught  by  a  mere  shake  of 
the  head. 

In  Miss  SeveroicTs  case,  in  spite  of  the  orders  he  had 
received,  he  hesitated.  She  was  outside  his  experience, 
and  his  black,  cherubic  face  looked  troubled. 

Then  he  came  to  himself  and  nodded  and — smiled ! 

Which  was  revolutionary. 

Agigi  had  never  so  far  forgotten  himself  as  to  smile 
upon  a  visitor  before.  As  he  led  Miss  Severoid  along 
the  veranda  and  around  to  the  shady  corner  overlook 
ing  the  river  he  seemed  rather  crestfallen  and  ashamed. 

Daniel  McClure  uncurled  himself  from  his  Madeira 
chair  and  stood  waiting  as  his  visitor,  light  of  foot, 
came  into  view. 

He  was  a  big,  broad  man  of  an  exceptionally  pow 
erful  build,  and  his  parents  had  been  Scotch-Irish. 
But  since  he  had  been  born  on  a  tramp  steamer  some 
where  between  Cape  Town  and  Bombay,  and  had  since 
lived  under  almost  every  flag  of  any  consequence,  he 
was  a  citizen  of  the  world — a  cosmopolite  who  had  an 
equal  acquaintance  with  the  Avenue  de  1'Opera  and  the 
Bowery,  with  Bond  Street  and  the  squalor  of  Port 
Said,  with  the  wharves  of  Shanghai  and  the  torpid 
mysteries  of  the  Amazon. 

He  dwarfed  the  majority  of  men,  mentally  as  well 
as  physically,  not  because  he  had  gathered  his  knowl 
edge  of  people  and  things  in  the  quiet  of  a  university, 
but  because  he  had  seen  most  of  what  he  knew  with  his 
own  cold-gray  eyes. 

No  one  would  have  accused  him  of  the  crime  of 
pulchritude.  But  his  nose  was  straight  and  lean 
enough,  his  heavy,  sandy  mustache  well  trimmed, 
his  massive  jaw  clean  shaven,  his  teeth  strong  and 
white  and  good.  His  glance,  though  habitually  lazy 
and  cold,  held  an  illusive  twinkle  that  hinted  at  the 
possibility  of  the  world  being  a  constant  source  of 


IN  SEARCH  OF  PROTECTION  41 

amusement  to  him — an  amusement  he  seemed  to  accept 
rather  contemptuously. 

But  when  he  did  smile,  it  was  a  broad,  glistening 
affair,  altogether  genuine. 

He  gave  an  instant  impression  of  things  large  and 
worth  while;  a  man  who,  by  reason  of  his  long  and 
powerful  arms  and  the  breadth  of  his  shoulders,  seemed 
capable  of  lifting  obstacles  from  his  path  rather  than 
climbing  over  them.  And  his  riotous  crown  of  sandy 
hair  acted  as  a  sort  of  beacon-light  of  warning  to  any 
one  who  might  seek  to  run  foul  of  his  wrath. 

In  spite  of  all  that,  however,  the  moment  he  caught 
sight  of  Miss  Severoid's  face  his  jaw  sagged  a  little 
and  he  stared  at  her  foolishly,  as  though  he  doubted  his 
eyesight. 

But  only  for  a  moment.  As  she  came  nearer  he 
bowed  and  smiled. 

"Miss  Severoid,  I  presume.  My  assistant,  Mr.  Tait, 
told  me  a  little  about  you.  My  name  is  McClure." 

Miss  Severoid  returned  his  smile  and  looked  stead 
ily  up  at  him  as  Agigi,  with  a  puzzled  expression  upon 
his  face,  sauntered  back  to  his  post. 

"And  Mr.  Tait  told  me  about  you,"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "I  hope  I  am  not  intruding  upon  your  leisure 
hours.  I  came  to  pay  our  bill — and  to  become  ac 
quainted." 

"Thank  you.     Won't  you  sit  down  ?" 

McClure  bowed  toward  a  chair,  and  Miss  Severoid 
accepted  it  with  another  sweet  smile. 

"People  who  bring  money  never  intrude  at  any 
time,"  he  went  on,  "but  I  appreciate  it  doubly  this 
time,  since  it  affords  me  the  opportunity  of  knowing 
you.  And  now  that  I've  said  the  proper  thing,  what 
is  the  proper  thing  to  do  ?  Offer  you  tea  ?" 

"No,  thanks."  Another  smile.  "I've  just  had  tif 
fin.  Are  you  a  stickler  for  form,  Mr.  McClure? 


42  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

Some  one  on  the  steamer  coming  out  told  me  that 
traders  were  a  rough  sort  of  crowd — but  you  don't 
look  at  all  rough.  Perhaps  you  are  the  exception 
that—" 

"No,  I'm  afraid  not,"  deliberately.  "I  am  in  this 
business  for  the  material  purpose  of  making  money — 
and  I'm  doing  it.  I  have  but  one  ambition  meantime, 
and  that  is  to  buy  at  the  lowest  price  I  can  more  oil 
and  rubber  and  kernels  than  any  other  two  firms  on  the 
river.  I  am  doing  that,  too. 

"I  leave  sociology  and  uplift  and  government  to 
those  who  are  paid  to  attend  to  them.  Perhaps  I  am 
helping  to  develop  the  native's  business  sense — but  I 
don't  think  that  is  necessary.  And  I  do  not  care  for 
the  generalities  of  steamer-deck  critics.  They  are 
usually  young  or  inexperienced  or  drunk.  Did  you 
have  a  pleasant  trip?" 

Miss  Severoid  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and,  laugh 
ing  softly,  fixed  McClure  with  a  quiet,  penetrating  look 
that  was  uncomfortable. 

"How  much  is  the  bill,  please?"  she  asked  simply. 

"Er — eh — just  a  moment.     Boy !" 

His  thunderous  voice,  in  lieu  of  a  bell,  echoed  and 
reechoed,  and  had  scarcely  died  away  when  a  surly- 
looking  black  steward  appeared  and  stood  at  atten 
tion. 

"Ask  Mr.  Gilmore  to  give  you  the  mission  bill  for 
the  month.  I'm  waiting." 

"Yessah." 

The  boy  vanished  and  proceeded  down-stairs  to  the 
shop  beneath,  passing  Chief  Cralla  on  the  way. 

Agigi,  who  was  not  visible  from  the  shady  corner, 
sat  on  the  top  step  of  the  stairs,  motionless  as  a  little 
black  god,  with  a  changeless  look  of  simplicity  upon 
his  face. 

Cralla  reached  him  and  grumbled  something  in  Jack- 


IN  SEARCH  OF  PROTECTION  43 

rie  that  deprecated  Agigi's  duty  and  station,  but  the 
boy  shook  his  head  mournfully.  The  chief,  though 
his  eyes  blazed  and  his  tongue  searched  for  adequate 
expletives,  went  no  farther. 

He  knew  better.  Once  upon  a  time  a  Jackrie  of 
large  importance  had  scorned  Agigi's  edict,  and  Mc- 
Clure  had  thrown  him  down-stairs  again — on  his  head. 
Cralla  evidently  did  not  care  for  that  sort  of  recrea 
tion,  so  he  sat  down  on  the  second  step  from  the  top 
and  waited. 

"Find  your  new  work  interesting?"  McClure  asked 
his  visitor  after  several  indifferently  successful  attempts 
to  make  conversation  and  watching  her  face  more 
closely  than  he  knew. 

"Oh,  yes.     Everything  is  so  queer  and  different." 

"Including  friend  Clavering?  Handsome,  dare 
devil  sort  of  chap,  isn't  he  ?  I've  never  met  him." 

"Well,"  musingly,  "I  did  not  think  he  was  so  very 
handsome.  His  mouth  was  too  wicked.  But  he  had 
a  certain  sort  of  fascination  that  was — well — disturb 
ing.  It  was  an  interesting  experience." 

"Yes,  I  judge  it  must  have  been.  Clavering  is  a  host 
in  himself.  I'd  like" — with  a  grim,  elusive  smile — "to 
meet  him." 

"Would  you  ?     What  would  you  do  if  you  did  ?" 

"Shoot  him,"  very  quietly  and  convincingly. 

"Really!"  Miss  Severoid  eyed  McClure  till  his 
glance  wavered  and  shifted.  Then  with  a  quiet  little 
smile  she  asked  softly:  "Are  you  sure  he  would  not 
shoot— first?" 

McClure  threw  his  head  back  and  grinned. 

"Well,  yes,  he  might.  Now  that  you  mention  it,  I 
think  it  would  be  rather  interesting  to  know  whether 
he  is  the  faster  at  that  game." 

Miss  Severoid  sat  up  a  little  and  stopped  twisting 
the  soft  leather  handle  of  her  hand-bag. 


44  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"You  mean  you  think  you  are?  In  a  battle  of  wits 
and  bullets  you  would  not  be  afraid  of  him?" 

The  trader  caught  the  faintest  hint  of  anxiety  in  her 
tone,  and  it  puzzled  him. 

"No.  Why  do  you  ask?  Do  you  think  I  might 
be?" 

And  Miss  Severoid's  eyes  became  softly  apologetic, 
then  a  little  furtive,  then  pleaded  as  plainly  as  they 
could  plead  for  a  strong  man's  protection. 

"No,  I  didn't  think  so,"  she  said  in  a  whispering 
voice.  "I  was  sure  you  wouldn't  be.  That's  why  I 
wanted  to — to  come  here  to-day  and  tell  you  that  he — 
he's  bothering  me." 

A  harsh  sound  emanated  from  the  depths  of  Mc- 
Clure's  great  body  and  he  half  rose  out  of  his  chair. 

"Sh!"  Miss  Severoid  cautioned,  and,  leaning  over, 
laid  a  restraining  hand  upon  his  arm — a  touch  that 
startled  him  quite  as  much  as  her  confession  and  made 
him  sink  back  into  his  chair  again — docile — just  look 
ing  at  her. 

Davie  Tait  had  done  the  same  thing. 

"You  mustn't!"  she  pleaded  softly.  "Not  yet.  I 
couldn't  tell  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Steel,  somehow.  I'm  afraid 
they'd  be  horribly  shocked.  And  I  don't  want  people 
to  begin  talking  about  things  they  don't  understand. 
You  know,  I  can  see  you  sitting  here  from  my  veranda. 
Perhaps  you've  noticed  me  ?" 

McClure  nodded  in  a  strange  helplessness  he  did  not 
understand.  He  knew  perfectly  well  that  it  was  not 
hypnotism.  He  was  tingling  pleasantly  from  head  to 
foot. 

"Well,"  the  soft,  dulcet  voice  went  on,  "I  have  been 
watching  you — have  seen  how  big  and  imperious  you 
are,  and — and,  oh !  you've  been  just  like  a — a  raja  or 
something  like  that,  sitting  in  that  big  chair  ordering 
everybody  about.  And  people  seemed  to  be  so  very 


IN  SEARCH  OF  PROTECTION  45 

respectful,  I  thought  you  must  be  big  in  mind  as  well 
as  body,  and  when  his  note  came,  and  I  got  so  terribly 
frightened,  I — well — I  just  thought  of  you  at  once. 
Was  I  right?" 

Her  ringers  tightened  upon  his  coat-sleeve,  and  as  he 
felt  their  nervous  pressure  he  had  a  keener  apprecia 
tion  of  his  strength.  He  did  not  tell  her  that  most  of 
his  raj  alike  attitude  was  plain  haggling  with  the  native 
traders  over  the  price  he  was  willing  to  pay  them  for 
their  produce. 

And  she  was  such  a  little  woman,  too — so  soft  and 
gentle,  with  a  motherliness  in  her  eyes  and  about  her 
mouth  that  carried  him  back  years  and  years  to  a  time 
when — 

"Was  I  right  ?"  she  pleaded  again  anxiously. 

McClure  gave  a  faint  start. 

"Miss  Severoid,  I  am  honored,  and  I  shall  be  glad 
to  help  you  and,  if  necessary,  protect  you  with  all  the 
powers  at  my  command.  Your  confidence  is  perfectly 
safe  with  me — with  none  safer." 

Listening  to  the  sound  of  his  own  voice,  he  marveled 
at  his  volubility. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad,  and  I  believe  in  you!  You  see, 
this  is  a  terrible  place,  and — " 

"It  is  a  terrible  place,  and  it  is  no  place  for  a 
woman — " 

He  was  going  to  say  "like  you,"  but  he  thought  bet 
ter  of  it,  and  asked:  "You  say  you  had  a  note. 
When?" 

"Last  night.  It  came  into  my  room  through  the 
open  window ;  and  I  couldn't  find  out  who  had  thrown 
it  in.  It  frightened  me,  and — and  I  don't  think  I'm 
such  a  terrible  coward." 

"No  woman  who  comes  out  here  alone  is  a  coward," 
McClure  assured  her  quietly.  "Might  I  ask  what  was 
in  the  note  ?" 


46  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"Oh,  nothing  much.  I  tore  it  up.  He — he  said — 
that  is,  he  asked  me  why  I  had  not  let  him  kiss  me  that 
night  I  arrived.  You  know,  he  tried  to." 

McClure's  jaws  tightened  slowly. 

There  were  a  few  moments  of  silence  in  which  the 
lazy  buzz  of  life  on  the  beach  below  came  up  to  them. 
Miss  Severoid  twisted  a  small  handkerchief  round  and 
round  her  finger,  and  the  trader  watched  her  with  a 
black  cloud  of  wrath  hanging  over  his  eyes. 

"You  did  not — answer  the  note,  of  course?" 

Miss  Severoid  looked  up,  startled.  The  shuffling 
feet  of  the  steward  warned  them  of  his  approach. 

"Gracious,  no!"  she  whispered  in  horror,  then 
smiled.  "How  could  I,  even  if  I  wanted  to?  I 
shouldn't  know  where  to  send  it." 

The  steward  turned  the  corner  with  the  mission- 
house  bill. 


CHAPTER  VI 

SIGNALS 

THE  bill  was  paid  and  the  usual  weekly  order  for 
provisions  sent  down  to  the  shop  clerk  to  be  filled.  As 
Miss  Severoid  folded  the  receipt  and  placed  it  in  her 
hand-bag,  McClure  stood  looking  down  at  her  quiz 
zically,  wondering  if,  in  spite  of  her  fear  of  Clavering, 
she  really  appreciated  the  unscrupulous  character  of  the 
man. 

That  she  had  come  to  him — McClure — for  protection 
and  advice  was  a  wonderfully  soothing  thought.  But 
he  was  not  at  all  certain  of  the  extent  of  the  protection 
he  might  be  permitted  to  afford. 

"Do  you  think  it  likely  that  he  will  be  persistent?" 
he  asked  quietly,  and  knew  the  answer  better  than  his 
guest. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered  doubtfully.  "I  hope 
not.  What  on  earth  am  I  to  do  if  he  is?" 

"Ignore  him,  of  course,  to  begin  with.  Let  me  post 
two  good  Kroo  boys  somewhere  on  the  Mission  Beach, 
where  they  could  see  and  not  be  seen.  I  mean  at  night. 
No,  no,  you  mustn't  be  frightened,"  he  reproved  gently 
as  Miss  Severoid's  eyes  timidly  searched  his  face.  "I 
know  it  isn't  easy,  but  I  hardly  think  you  are  in  any 
real  physical  danger.  If  you'd  let  me  post  two  boys 
just  where  I  want  them  I  could  arrange  signals  and — " 

"No,  please — I — that  is — I  don't  want  any  one  else 
to  know — not  even  Kroo  boys.  Could — couldn't  I 
arrange  signals  with  you?  I  am  not  really  afraid  of 
Mr.  Clavering,  but  I'd  just  like  to  feel  that  there  was 

47 


48  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

some  one  who  could  help  me  in  case  I — I  needed  it. 
Don't  you  understand?  Please  try  to,  because  I  have 
a  horror  of  people  getting  to  know  about  it,  and  talking 
behind  my  back  in  whispers  as  if — but  you  understand, 
don't  you?" 

McClure  thought  he  did,  but  when  she  looked  at  him 
like  that  he  was  not  sure  of  anything. 

The  sound  of  Jackrie  gutturals  came  from  the  top 
of  the  stairs,  and  a  heavy  foot  pounded  down  them 
disgustedly.  Cralla  had  grown  tired  of  waiting. 

Agigi  sat  on,  unsmiling  and  undisturbed. 

McClure  dug  his  hands  deep  into  his  pockets,  glanced 
toward  the  river  and  the  straggling  canoes  upon  it. 
Then  meeting  Miss  Severoid's  anxious  look  he  said 
quietly : 

"I  think  I  do,  and  in  a  community  as  small  as  this  is, 
with  life  pretty  much  the  same  dreary  grind  from  day 
to  day,  I'm  afraid  men  become — gossipy.  What  sort 
of  signals  would  you  suggest  ?" 

"Oh— thank  you!" 

The  burst  of  gratefulness  was  very  soft  and  very 
real.  It  made  McClure  fidget  and  study  the  river 
again. 

"I  knew  you  would  understand,  and — and  you're 
very  good  to  me.  I  wish — "  She  stopped,  tugged  at 
the  handkerchief  nervously,  then  went  on  hurriedly : 

"I  have  two  lamps— one  with  just  a  plain  white 
shade  and  the  other  green.  You  can  see  them  from 
here — at  least  I  think  you  can,  because  I  can  see  yours. 
I  usually  light  both  of  them,  and  I'll  put  the  green  light 
nearest  the  windows  that  look  out  on  the  veranda.  If 
you  see  it  go  out  and  the  white  light  in  the  other  room 
continues  burning  for  a  while  after,  you'll  know  it's  all 
right.  But  if  the  white  light  goes  out  first,  you'll  come 
at  once,  won't  you  ?" 


SIGNALS  49 

"Quicker  than  that,"  McClure  declared  without  a 
smile.  "It  is  good  of  you  to  trust  me  like  this,  and  I 
hope  I  shall  not  fail  you.  I  also  hope  you  will  try  not 
to  tet  this  thing  bother  you  too  much.  Clavering  is  a 
cold-blooded,  unscrupulous  hound,  but  I  really  do  be 
lieve  he  is  still — in  one  or  two  respects — a  gentleman. 
Think  you  can  remember  that?'' 

Miss  Severoid  studied  him  a  moment  or  two  doubt 
fully. 

"I'll  try — but  do  you  know  that  you  are  treating  me 
like  a  child?"  Her  eyes  and  lips  smiled  tormentingly 
at  him  as  she  quickly  rose.  "But  I'm  old  enough  to 
appreciate  it.  Now  I  must  run,  or  Mrs.  Steel  will 
think  I  am  kidnaped." 

McClure  hardly  moved,  and  Miss  Severoid's  smile 
wavered  a  little,  then  drifted  away.  She  looked  fright 
ened,  as  a  child  does  when  it  is  not  sure  whether  its 
mother  is  pleased  or  saddened  by  something  it  has  done. 

"Why — what's  wrong?"  she  whispered.  "Why  do 
you  look  at  me  like  that?" 

The  trader  started  slightly.  He  was  rather  bewil 
dered,  and  mumbled  something  unintelligible  as  he 
moved  suddenly  toward  the  stairs.  Miss  Severoid 
had  to  run  a  few  steps  to  catch  up  with  his  long,  heavy 
strides. 

"Good-by,"  he  said  simply,  "and  thank  you!" 

"Thank  you,"  Miss  Severoid  corrected  sweetly. 
"And  it  isn't  quite — good-by,  is  it?" 

A  smile,  a  look,  the  soft,  fleeting  touch  of  her  hand, 
and  she  was  gone. 

McClure  spun  upon  his  heel  and  walked  right  into 
his  office,  to  stop  in  the  center  of  the  floor  and  look 
about  him  guiltily.  Then  he  threw  his  head  back,  and 
his  clenched  right  hand  sank  with  a  resounding  smack 
into  the  palm  of  his  left. 


50  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"Lord,  what  a  woman !     What  a  woman !" 

He  paced  the  floor,  muttering  to  himself  for  a  while, 
then  suddenly  yelled  for  a  boy. 

There  was  no  immediate  answer. 

"Boy!  Where  the  devil—  Oh,  you  here,  eh?  All 
right.  Whisky-and-soda — one  time !" 

Agigi  glanced  interrogatively  up  at  his  master — a 
pygmy  beside  a  giant.  McClure  had  never  looked  quite 
like  that  before,  and  as  the  boy  went  out  to  obey  he 
shot  a  quick,  comprehensive  glance  over  the  veranda 
rail  toward  the  little  wooden  bridge,  where  a  trim  fig 
ure  in  white  walked  leisurely — a  few  careful  feet  be 
hind  Chief  Cralla. 

The  child-valet  shrugged  his  narrow  shoulders  and 
vanished  into  the  shadows  of  the  "saloon,"  as  the  great 
dining-room  was  called.  The  term  had  a  nautical 
origin,  just  as  the  floor  was  always  called  the  "deck" 
and  the  kitchen  the  "galley." 

McClure  turned  suddenly  toward  his  library  table 
and,  unlocking  the  drawer,  drew  therefrom,  after  a 
minute's  rummaging,  a  photograph  he  had  found 
among  the  vanished  Ralph  Debenham's  belongings — a 
photograph  he  had  feloniously  kept  for  no  particular 
reason  except  that  the  face  fascinated  him. 

It  was  that  of  a  lady  in  the  guise  of  a  shepherdess 
of  a  bygone  day ;  but  whether  she  had  been  in  musical 
comedy  or  simply  at  a  masquerade  was  difficult  to  say. 
The  card  was  unsigned. 

Holding  it  in  his  hands  and  studying  the  beautiful 
face  line  for  line,  with  a  look  upon  his  own  that  was 
almost  greedy,  McClure  muttered  heavily : 

"Wonder  what  the  devil  she's  up  to,  playing  shep 
herdess  across  the  way !" 

Chief  Cralla,  apparently  unconscious  of  Miss  Sever- 
oid's  presence  behind  him,  strode  across  the  *«ttle 


SIGNALS  51 

wooden  bridge  with  his  usual  majesty,  and  passed  on 
into  the  short  avenue  of  palms  that  led  to  the  door  of 
the  mission  hall. 

Save  for  a  weary-footed  mammy,  her  baby  hunched 
on  her  back  like  a  Scotch  fishwife's  creel,  the  avenue 
was  deserted.  The  mammy  was  trudging  on  ahead 
toward  Perkins  &  Gray's. 

Miss  Severoid  was  just  a  little  pale,  and  she  watched 
every  step  the  stalwart  chief  took  as  a  cat  watches  an 
unsuspecting  sparrow. 

But  Cralla  did  not  halt  nor  give  any  sign  that  he 
knew  she  was  behind  him.  When  a  neatly  folded  chit 
dropped  from  his  right  hand  and  lay  directly  in  Miss 
Severoid's  path,  he  did  not  stop  to  see  ..aether  she 
picked  it  up  or  not. 

Instead,  he  increased  his  pace;  walked  without  a 
moment's  halt  out  of  the  palm-grove  and  across  the 
mission  beach,  and  dived  into  the  bush-path  leading  to 
Perkins  &  Gray's. 

Miss  Severoid  dropped  her  hand-bag  and  picked 
it  and  the  chit  up  together.  But  the  precaution  was 
unnecessary.  There  was  no  one  behind  her. 

A  little  later,  having  avoided  as  much  as  she  could 
a  long  conversation  with  the  missionary's  wife,  she 
reached  her  rooms.  Unfolding  the  note  with  fingers 
that  perceptibly  trembled,  she  read: 

"I  am  sorry  that  my  choice  of  a  messenger  should  have  sug 
gested  to  you  that  I  am  cowardly  enough  to  protect  myself  at 
your  expense.  A  handkerchief  dVopped  from  your  sitting-room 
window  this  evening  after  dinner  will  tell  me  that  I  may  call 
and  try  to  improve  your  impression  of  me. 

"Don't  be  afraid.  I  shall  be  careful  not  to  compromise  you 
in  any  way.  And  please  remember  that  the  word  'good-by'  has 
no  place  between  you  and  me.  G.  C." 

Miss  Severoid's  lips  were  quite  colorless,  but  in  spite 
of  that  a  queer,  satisfied  little  smile  hung  upon  her  lips. 


52  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

The  flaring  red,  tropical  sun  dropped  beyond  the  dark- 
green  line  of  the  horizon,  tinting  the  sky  with  the 
delicate  hues  of  the  rainbow  that  faded  almost  as 
quickly  as  they  came,  till,  as  though  heralded  by  the 
ringing  of  "four  bells"  upon  every  beach,  darkness 
fell. 

A  low  tap  upon  the  door  startled  her  a  little,  but, 
going  to  the  washstand  in  the  little  bedroom  adjoining, 
she  called  clearly : 

"Come  in!" 

A  colored  maid  entered  with  the  lamps. 

To  Miss  Severoid  she  was  a  new  figure  in  the  house 
hold  ;  a  lithe,  black  Venus,  coiled  about  with  a  rich  cloth 
of  deep  red,  and  there  was  a  yellow  silk  handkerchief 
about  her  head. 

"Oh,  thanks !"  Miss  Severoid  called  sweetly  from  the 
bath-room  doorway.  "Put  that  green  one  over  by 
the  window,  will  you,  please?  Yes,  near  the  veranda 
— a  little  nearer  yet.  That's  it.  That's  a  good  girl. 
Thank  you.  I  haven't  seen  you  before.  What  is  your 
name  ?" 

"Ilora.     I  be  new  gell." 

The  girl  eyed  her  mistress  with  a  covetous  yet  con 
temptuous  glance. 

"Ilora?  That's  rather  a  pretty  name.  Take  the 
other  lamp  into  the  bedroom,  please." 

The  girl  obeyed  without  a  word,  and  a  few  moments 
later  she  went  out  with  a  sinuous,  noiseless  movement 
that  was  a  little  creepy. 

Miss  Severoid  entered  the  bedroom  and  closed  the 
door. 

When  she  emerged  again  she  was  radiant,  and  more 
wonderful  than  ever.  The  soft  lights  played  in  her 
hair;  her  cheeks  glowed,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  with 
the  love  of  life — and,  possibly,  with  the  knowledge  that 


SIGNALS  53 

she  was  truly  beautiful.  In  a  simple,  white  dinner- 
gown,  free  from  all  artificialities,  she  might  have  posed 
for  a  modern  version  of  the  Madonna. 

At  dinner  that  evening,  the  Rev.  James  Steel  glanced 
furtively  in  her  direction  several  times,  and  knew, 
though  he  never  would  have  admitted  it  to  his  wife, 
that  he  was  looking  upon  the  most  fascinating  woman 
he  had  ever  seen. 

Mrs.  Steel  looked  sad ;  not  at  all  envious — just  sad. 
She  was  thinking  of  what  havoc  malaria  and  its  attend 
ant  evils  would  work  upon  Miss  Severoid's  wonder 
fully  tinted  cheeks  and  smooth,  svelt  figure. 

Even  the  waiting  maids  seemed  to  feel  the  effect  of 
Miss  Severoid's  startling  loveliness.  They  performed 
their  duties  with  less  precision  than  usual,  and  the 
punkah  boy  twice  stopped  pulling  to  gape  at  the  glisten 
ing  whiteness  of  her  shoulders. 

"I  can't  understand  what  the  people  at  home  were 
thinking  about,"  the  missionary's  wife  said  to  him  when 
they  were  seated  in  their  corner  of  the  veranda  after 
ward. 

Miss  Severoid  had  smilingly  wished  them  good-night 
because  she  felt  "just  a  little  sleepy." 

"She  was  never  intended  for  this  kind  of  work,  even 
if  she  does  know  how  to  teach,  and  I'm  sure  she  doesn't 
care  a  snap  of  her  pretty  fingers  whether  there  are  a 
dozen  heathens  in  the  Delta  or  a  million." 

"Martha,  my  dear!" 

"And  you  know  it,  James.  And  you  don't  care 
whether  she  does  or  not.  You  are  glad  to  have  her 
here,  if  only  to  look  at  and  be  reminded  that  a  woman 
is  really  a  delicate  creation  of  the  Lord's,  and  not  the 
physical  monstrosity  you  married." 

"Martha!" 

"Oh,  fiddlesticks !    And  that  note  of  horror  you  are 


54  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

trying  to  get  into  your  voice  isn't  convincing.  But  I 
don't  blame  you,  man  o'  mine.  If  /  were  a  man,  I'd — 
what  was  that?"  she  exclaimed. 

Mrs.  Steel  sat  up  straight  and  listened.  She  had 
good  ears. 

A  naked  foot  scuffled  through  the  dining-room  and 
one  of  the  maids  passed  on  down-stairs  to  the  beach. 
The  watch-boy  under  the  veranda  stopped  singing  his 
three-lined  dirge  to  the  pale  and  watery  moon  and 
sang  it  to  her,  and  forgot  he  was  a  watch-boy. 

The  maid's  name  was  Ilora. 

A  bell  from  a  distant  beach  sounded,  rather  pre 
maturely,  the  hour  of  nine. 

"Thought  I  heard  some  one  moan,"  Mrs.  Steel  said 
at  last,  sitting' comfortably  back  into  her  chair.  "But 
I  must  have  been  mistaken." 

Yet  she  had  not  been  mistaken. 

A  half -stunned  Kroo  watch-boy  lay  under  the  fringe 
of  the  bush  at  the  rear  of  the  clearing — bound  and 
gagged.  A  large  and  brutal-looking  Jackrie  was  sit 
ting  on  his  head. 

And  Clavering  was  seated  in  a  shadowy  corner  of 
Miss  Severoid's  sitting-room  with  a  tiny  handkerchief 
in  his  hand. 


CHAPTER  VII 

TEARS 

THE  green-shaded  lamp  near  the  veranda  windows 
had  been  turned  low,  and  a  streak  of  light  coming 
through  the  half-opened  bedroom  door  fell  like  a  spot 
light  upon  Miss  Severoid,  who  stood  very  still  in  the 
center  of  the  room. 

An  indistinct  and  irregular  drone  of  conversation 
came  from  the  far  corner  of  the  south  veranda  which, 
being  upon  the  other  side  of  the  house  facing  Perkins 
&  Gray's,  was  not  visible  from  Miss  Severoid's  quar 
ters. 

The  stretch  of  veranda  upon  each  side  of  the  main 
stairway  and  facing  the  river  was  common  property, 
used  in  the  daytime  by  visiting  natives  of  more  or  less 
repute.  Just  then  it  was  deserted. 

Miss  Severoid  did  not  look  at  all  frightened.  She 
was  listening  and — smiling.  Then,  apparently  satis 
fied,  she  tiptoed  to  a  chair. 

"You  are  quite  an  accomplished  climber,"  she  said 
in  a  subdued  voice,  arranging  her  skirts  carefully  and 
picking  up  a  fan.  "How  did  you  get  past  the  watch- 
boys?" 

Clavering's  eyes  glowed  upon  her  like  those  of  a  cat 
in  the  dark.  He  crossed  his  knees  leisurely. 

"Usually,"  he  answered,  also  in  a  carefully  low  tone, 
"I  don't  bother  about  watch-boys,  but  to-night  I  had  to 
prowl  and  sneak  my  way  here  like  a  common  thief  be- 

55 


56  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

cause  I  realize  that  your  position  is  a  delicate  one,  and 
that  the  world  would  be  most  unkind  in  its  judgment  if 
it  knew  that  I  called.  I  suppose  you've  noticed  how 
quickly  the  average  mortal  betrays  the  groove  in  which 
his  mind  runs  by  the  speed  with  which  he  seizes  upon 
the  worst  motive  for  anything  that  isn't  quite  accord 
ing  to  Hoyle?" 

"And  this  isn't  quite  according  to  Hoyle,  is  it?" — 
lazily  stirring  a  tepid  zephyr  with  the  fan.  "May  I 
ask  why  you  called  ?" 

"To  know  why  you  dropped  this." 

He  held  up  the  tiny,  lace-embroidered  handkerchief 
in  silent  interrogation. 

"Oh,  just  curiosity.  This  is  a  queer  country,  you 
know,  and  you  are  probably  one  of  the  queerest  crea 
tions  in  it.  Women,  as  a  rule,  have  an  abnormally  de 
veloped  bump  of  inquisitiveness.  I  am  no  exception, 
but" — with  a  careful  laugh — "this  proves  it,  doesn't 
it?" 

Clavering's  teeth  gleamed  in  a  smile.  He  held  the 
handkerchief  out  to  her. 

"If  that  was  all,  then  I  do  not  want  to  keep  this. 
But  I  should  also  like  to  know  why,  when  you  had  such 
a  splendid  opportunity  to  destroy  me  the  other  evening, 
you  allowed  me  to  live  to  bother  you  ?" 

Miss  Severoid  claimed  the  handkerchief  with  a  mild 
inconsequential  "Thank  you." 

"That  was  simply  gratitude  for  your  goodness  to  us. 
Heaven  knows  when  we  should  have  reached  home  if 
you  hadn't  gallantly  come  to  the  rescue." 

Clavering's  lips  closed  tightly.  It  was  then  one  saw 
the  cruelty  of  his  mouth.  But  he  did  not  stir. 

Followed  an  uncomfortable  quiet.  Miss  Severoid 
appeared  to  be  waiting  for  her  guest  to  speak. 

At  length,  with  a  low,  melodious  laugh,  she  said 
lightly: 


TEARS  57 

"You  are  too  serious,  Mr.  Clavering,  or  is  it  that  you 
are  not  serious  enough?  I  thought  you  came  to  im 
prove  my  impression  of  you,  and  you  are  sulky.  That 
isn't  particularly  entertaining.  Why  don't  you  tell  me 
something  about  yourself  ?" 

Clavering  leaned  forward,  resting  his  elbows  on  his 
knees. 

"You  are  too  pretty  a  woman  to  make  trifling  with 
any  man  very  safe,  and  too  clever  a  woman  to  let  cu 
riosity  permit  you  to  do  anything  so  unorthodox  and 
dangerous  as  this.  What's  the  real  reason?" 

Miss  Severoid  smiled  at  him  over  the  top  of  her  fan. 

"Flatterer!  And  though  your  theories  are  most 
profound,  there  isn't  any  particular  reason  for  this 
except  that  I  like  to  do  unusual  things.  They  are  so 
much  more  exciting  than  the  usual  sort.  For  instance, 
the  Tait  boy  was  telling  me  of  a  very  queer  thing  that 
I'd  like  to  solve  just  for  the  fun  of  it.  I  hate  myster 
ies,  though  I  like  to  be  mysterious,  and  this  mystery 
irritated  me — does  yet,  in  fact.  Imagine  any  one  dis 
appearing  and  never,  never  being  found !" 

Clavering  sat  up  straight.  His  quick  ear,  constantly 
and  instinctively  listening  for  the  approach  of  danger, 
heard  a  wicker  chair  on  the  south  veranda  creak  loudly 
as  some  one  rose  and  moved  about  for  a  moment. 

Then  a  door  closed,  and  silence,  save  for  a  low  buzz 
of  conversation  under  the  veranda,  fell  again. 

"Who  disappeared  and  never  was  found  ?"  he  asked 
cautiously. 

Miss  Severoid  folded  her  fan,  leaned  her  chin  upon 
it  meditatively  and  thought  a  minute. 

"Hed — no,  that  wasn't  it.  Deb — Debenham — that 
was  the  boy's  name,  wasn't  it?" 

"Oh — Debenham!  Yes,  I  remember  that.  Hap 
pened  about  six  months  ago.  And  it  irritates  you, 
does  it?" 


58  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"Terribly.  That  is,  it  seems  so  weird  and  stupid 
that  no  one  seems  to  know  even  what  happened  to  him. 
I  mentioned  it  because  I  thought  you,  who  are  so  mys 
terious  yourself,  might  be  able  to  solve  it  for  me — if 
you  cared  to.  I'm  sure  you  could." 

"Are  you?" 

"Quite." 

Clavering's  teeth  gleamed  again,  and  Miss  Severoid 
saw  his  hands  clench  slowly  on  his  knees. 

"Good,"  he  murmured,  and  his  voice  purred.  "But 
I  am  not  a  detective." 

"You  could  be  if  you  wanted  to.  Please!  Just  tell 
me.  You  do  know  what  happened  to  him,  don't 
you?" 

She  rose  very  quietly,  but  Clavering  did  not  know 
how  she  trembled.  In  a  moment,  with  scarcely  a 
sound,  and  hardly  seeming  to  move,  she  was  standing 
over  him,  nearer  than  he  had  believed  she  would  dare 
to  come. 

"Won't  you  tell  me?"  she  pleaded.  "I'd  just  love 
the  sensation  of  knowing  something  no  one  else  does !" 

Clavering  did  not  answer. 

His  right  hand  rose  a  little  with  a  jerky,  undecided 
movement,  and  the  tips  of  his  fingers  brushed  the  vel 
vety  softness  of  Miss  Severoid's  arm. 

He  did  not  feel  her  shrink,  nor  hear  the  little  gasp 
she  gave.  Out  of  the  shadows  the  deep  blue  of  her 
eyes  looked  meltingly  down  upon  him. 

He  moved  uneasily  and  did  not  speak.  But  his 
right  hand  went  out  again,  still  undecidedly,  and  this 
time  closed  about  her  arm  with  a  timidity  entirely  for 
eign  to  him. 

Gently,  without  haste  or  any  evidence  of  surprise  or 
disapproval,  she  drew  her  arm  free,  still  looking  stead 
ily  down  at  him  in  the  quiet,  deliberate  way  she  had. 

"Please   tell   me,"    she   pleaded   again.     "You    do 


TEARS  59 

know.  I  can  see  it  in  your  face.  He  isn't — "  Some 
thing  caught  in  her  throat  making  her  voice  husky. 
She  coughed  it  clear.  "He  isn't — dead?" 

Clavering  sat  back  in  his  chair  with  a  sudden  and 
surprising  air  of  nonchalance,  as  though  the  subject 
did  not  interest  him.  Miss  Severoid  winced. 

"He  wasn't  dead  when  I  saw  him  last,"  came  the 
unexpected  answer  suddenly  and  indifferently — but 
Clavering's  coal-black  glance  pierced  the  veil  of  shadow 
and  saw  Miss  Severoid's  lips  part  suddenly  as  though 
she  would  scream. 

Instead  she  laughed;  a  queer  little  sound  that 
cracked  unmusically. 

"Oh — tha-thank — you!  Fun- funny  I  knew  he — 
he — "  she  drew  away  a  pace.  "I  was  sure  he — \vh- 
where  did  you  see  him  last?" 

Clavering  rose,  and  there  was  a  quiet,  knowing  smile 
playing  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  His  move 
ments  were  noiseless — catlike,  uncanny. 

A  cargo  boat,  making  the  Bates  &  Mahler  curve, 
blew  a  sonorous  blast  of  warning,  and  then  the  world 
was  still. 

Miss  Severoid  backed  away  from  Clavering  till  the 
light  from  the  bedroom  lamp  fell  upon  her  face  again 
and  betrayed  the  anxiety  she  was  trying  so  desperately 
to  conceal  and  stifle. 

"So — that  was  it?  I  said  you  were  a  clever  woman 
— and  you  are ;  as  clever  as  you  are  wonderful.  The 
stage  lost  an  artist,  Miss  Severoid,  when  you  became  a 
mission  lady.  Might  I  ask — "  and  he  suddenly  reached 
her  side,  leaning  over  her  like  the  shadow  of  evil  he 
was — "what  young  Debenham  was — to  you  ?" 

"Tome!" 

She  tried  to  slip  away,  but  the  tips  of  his  fingers 
pressing  against  her  arm  stayed  her  as  effectively  as 
though  he  had  bound  a  rope  about  her. 


60  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"Don't  be  stupid!  And — and  please  let  me  go! 
Please!" 

She  caught  his  eyes  and  held  them.  "You  would 
not  like  me  to  think  you  common,  would  you  ?" 

"Hardly,  but  I  don't  think  you  do  in  any  case,"  came 
the  easy,  confident  answer,  and  his  fingers  with  tips 
like  iron  made  her  captivity  more  emphatic.  "Be 
sides,  you  think  I  can  be  of  use  to  you — help  you  to 
find  your — what  was  young  Debenham  to  you?" 

There  was  no  answer. 

But  her  head  drooped  slowly,  nearer  and  nearer  to 
his  broad  chest,  while  under  his  fingers  he  felt  her 
tremble  and  shudder  convulsively  as  a  throaty  sob 
broke  harshly  upon  the  stillness. 

Clavering  looked  and  felt  awkward.  Upon  a  plane 
with  the  majority  of  men  he  had  a  healthy  horror  of  a 
woman's  tears. 

His  hands  dropped  limply  away  from  her  arms,  only 
to  have  her  lean  against  him  with  her  face  cowering 
into  the  hollow  of  his  shoulder,  as  though  she  were 
afraid  he  might  leave  her. 

"D-don't  ask  me!     P-please — you — you — " 

She  stopped.  Her  arms  swept  suddenly  upward 
about  his  neck,  and  she  clung  to  him  in  that  sudden 
mad  frenzy  which  no  man  enjoys,  looking  up  into  his 
face  with  all  the  faith  in  the  world  in  her  glistening, 
tear-filled  eyes. 

"You — you're  so  big  and — and  wonderful — so 
strong — so — so  good  to  me!  Won't  you  trust  me? 
Oh,  please,  please  help  me !  I — I'm  so  alone — so  help 
less  in  this  terrible  place,  and  he — he — oh,  I  can't !  I 
can't  tell  you !" 

"Sh!"  Clavering  cautioned,  biting  his  lips.  "It's 
— er— it's  all  right.  I— I'll— " 

He  halted  abruptly,  and  his  eyes  feasted  themselves 
greedily  upon  her  upturned  face.  The  round  arms 


TEARS  61 

about  his  neck  were  a  soft  and  delicious  imprisonment. 

Scarcely  aware  of  it,  his  own  crept  up  and  about  her 
shoulders — gently  at  first,  then  tightening  all  at  once. 
His  head  bent  with  lightning  swiftness,  and  his  lips 
pressed  burningly  upon  hers — once,  twice,  thrice — till 
she  thrust  him  reeling  away  from  her. 

"You  beast !     You — you — " 

Her  indignation  seemed  to  choke  her,  and  her  voice 
trailed  away  to  a  low  moan.  She  tottered  to  a  chair 
and  buried  her  face  in  her  arms. 

Clavering  stood  a  few  paces  off,  motionless  and 
white  to  the  lips — listening. 

Some  one  was  calling  for  the  watch-boy  who  lay 
under  the  fringe  of  the  bush  to  the  rear  of  the  clearing, 
and  a  low.,  peculiar  whistle  came  from  beneath  the 
veranda. 

The  outlaw,  however,  seemed  to  be  more  concerned 
about  Miss  Severoid's  grief.  His  hands  began  to  move 
uneasily,  and  his  lips  parted  once  or  twice  as  though 
he  would  apologize. 

But  he  waited — saying  nothing. 

Then  Miss  Severoid's  head  came  up  slowly,  and  he 
saw  the  glistening  contempt  in  her  eyes. 

"Please — please  go!"  she  breathed  huskily.  "I'm 
sorry  I  allowed  you  to  come  up.  Instead  of  being  a 
prince  of  sinners,  you — you're  just — just  beastly! 
Now— go!" 

Clavering's  head  sank  an  inch  or  two,  and  his  shoul 
ders  with  it.  For  a  little  while,  with  the  whistle  under 
the  veranda  becoming  more  and  more  insistent,  he 
stood  very  still — just  looking  at  her. 

"I  am  sorry."  His  voice  went  fathoms  deep. 
"Goodnight!" 

"Good-by!" 

Clavering,  who  had  reached  the  door,  swung  round 
abruptly. 


62  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"No.     Not  good-by — good  night !" 

And  he  was  gone — a  silent  shadow  that  drifted  into 
the  darkness  and  slipped  across  the  beach,  almost  un 
der  the  noses  of  those  who  were  looking  for  the  watch- 
boy. 

Reaching  the  grove  of  palms  leading  to  Marsden's 
Creek,  he  stopped  and  whistled — that  same  low  sound 
that  had  come  from  beneath  the  veranda. 

Ilora,  who  had  playfully  blown  out  the  front  beach 
watch-boy's  lamp,  grinned  under  cover  of  the  darkness 
and  helped  him  light  it  again.  A  few  moments  later 
she  watched  a  "one  woman"  canoe  glide  out  from  the 
black  shadows  of  Marsden's  kernel  house  into  the  main 
stream  and  vanish  in  the  murk  toward  Akerri. 

Miss  Severoid,  brushing  her  lips  vigorously  with  a 
tiny  handkerchief,  blew  out  the  green-shaded  lamp  and 
laughed  a  little  hysterically.  She  was  looking  across 
the  creek  to  the  shady  corner  of  Marsden's  veranda, 
where  a  big,  sandy-haired  man  sat  waiting  and  watch 
ing. 

"It's  all  right,"  she  whispered  brokenly.  "Every 
thing's  all  right.  He  still  has  the  shreds  of  a  con 
science,  and  he'll  help  me — and  so  will  you.  And — 
they  were  only  stage-kisses — from  the  villain  of  the 
play.  Ugh!" 

Her  mouth  twisted  queerly  in  disgust,  and  her  step, 
as  she  moved  toward  the  bedroom,  was  unsteady. 

Then,  reaching  her  bed  and  plunging  recklessly 
through  the  loose-hanging  mosquito  curtains,  she  fell 
forward  upon  her  face  in  a  sudden,  unrestrained 
paroxysm  of  weeping. 

But  those  tears  were  real ! 

The  others  she  had  shed  on  Clavering's  shoulder 
were  not. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   AFFAIR   AT    SAGANNA 

THAT  one  of  the  mission  watch-boys  had  been  found 
bound  and  gagged,  and  that  the  victim  could  give  no 
very  definite  account  of  what  had  happened  to  him, 
created  a  little  stir.  But  comment  upon  the  circum 
stance  died  away  very  quickly. 

Chief  Cralla  did  not  appear  on  the  Mission  Beach 
next  morning,  and  Mrs.  Steel  felt  somewhat  relieved. 

But  when  another  week  had  passed  sweltering  over 
their  heads  and  the  Beau  Brummel  of  Jackriedom  failed 
to  put  in  an  appearance,  Miss  Severoid  began  to  look 
worried.  In  the  privacy  of  her  own  rooms  at  night 
she  would  sit  with  her  hands  clasped  tightly  in  her  lap, 
staring  dreamily,  sometimes  hungrily,  out  through 
the  open  windows,  hoping  for  another  of  Clavering's 
notes. 

In  the  afternoons,  when  the  greasy,  sycophantic  chil 
dren  of  the  Delta  had  gone,  or  when  she  returned  from 
a  visit  to  some  of  the  near-by  villages,  where,  with 
Mrs.  Steel,  she  distributed  piece-cloth  for  the  naked, 
administered  home  remedies  to  the  sick,  taught  sewing 
and  cleanliness,  and,  tempting  men  and  maidens  with 
the  mysteries  of  the  alphabet,  invited  all  and  sundry 
to  the  mission  hall  "next  morning,"  she  frequently  took 
tiffin  in  the  cool  shade  of  her  own  veranda. 

But  before  many  days  had  gone  she  was  rarely  al 
lowed  to  enjoy  it  alone. 

Dawson,  the  district  commissioner,  broke  the  ice 
first,  and  most  of  the  other  men — Fletcher  of  Perkins 

63 


64  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

&  Gray's,  Carmichael  of  the  Produce  Association. 
Bailey  of  Bates  &  Mahler's,  the  assistant  D.  C,  and 
the  rest  followed ;  and  Miss  Severoid  served  them  tea 
and  smiles  promiscuously. 

Once  Davie  Tait  took  himself  by  the  scruff  of  the 
neck  and,  blushing  most  uncomfortably,  thrust  him 
self  across  the  little  wooden  bridge — and  the  greater 
divide  of  being  a  raw  "first-timer" — to  the  outer 
fringe  of  that  admiring  circle. 

But  he  did  it  only  once. 

Hugging  a  veranda  upright,  watching  men  drink  tea 
as  though  they  liked  it — men  who  usually  drank  their 
Scotch  in  tumblerfuls  and  neat — listening  to  their  "idle 
chatter"  and  not  having  an  opportunity  to  say  anything 
himself,  was  not  Davie's  idea  of  enjoyment. 

So  he  did  not  go  again,  in  spite  of  Miss  Severoid's 
smiling  invitation. 

McClure  did  not  go  at  all.  He  sat  across  the  creek 
and  watched — smiling  under  cover  of  his  mustache  at 
the  "other  fools,"  knowing  that  he  was  probably  the 
greatest  fool  of  the  lot. 

Like  Davie  and  Clavering,  who  had  been  led  to  ex 
pect  more  than  they  had  received,  McClure  was  sulk 
ing.  He  was  resolutely  waiting  for  Miss  Severoid  to 
ask  him  to  call. 

And  Miss  Severoid,  for  reasons  of  her  own,  had  no 
intention  of  doing  anything  of  the  sort.  Some  day 
she  did  mean  to  call  him  to  her  side — but  there  would 
be  nothing  formal  in  the  invitation. 

Then  one  morning  a  runner  brought  to  Segwanga 
the  startling  intelligence  that  Clavering  was  trapped  in 
Chief  Rama's  compound  in  the  native  village  of  Sa- 
ganna,  fifteen  miles  away. 

With  Rama  and  his  boys,  armed  with  modern  rifles 
and  supplied  with  no  one  knew  how  many  rounds  of 
ammunition,  he  was  fighting  for  his  life  against  a  par- 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  SAGANNA  65 

ticularly  shrewd  young  lieutenant  of  the  Waffs  (West 
African  Field  Force),  who,  with  a  company  of  Yo- 
rubas,  had  apparently  surrounded  him  and  left  him 
no  loophole  of  escape. 

That  afternoon  Miss  Severoid  took  tiffin  alone. 

Most  of  Segwanga  raced  in  launches  to  Saganna. 
The  missionary  and  his  wife,  who  went  to  help  influ 
ence  peace  among  natives  who  might  possibly  rise  to 
Rama's  aid,  left  their  assistant  behind  because  of  the 
inviolable  law  that,  at  all  times,  upon  all  beaches,  one 
white  representative  had  to  remain  and,  by  the  simple 
domination  of  color,  prevent  the  native  help  from  tak 
ing  unusual  liberties. 

McClure  did  not  go  either.  He  sat  in  his  shady 
corner  as  usual,  watching  the  trim  figure  across  the 
creek  and  wondered  what  she  thought  about  it. 

Had  he  been  told  that  she  was  praying  with  all  her 
soul  for  Clavering's  escape  he  would  have  called  his 
informant  a  fool. 

Nevertheless  she  was.  Clavering  was  too  necessary 
to  die  just  then. 

Since  morning  she  had  writhed  in  doubt  and  sus 
pense.  Left  at  the  mercy  of  such  fears  as  were  known 
to  her  alone,  she  grew  paler  and  paler,  till  her  color 
was  near  to  that  of  gray  chalk. 

Then  shortly  after  four  o'clock,  as  if  in  keeping  with 
her  thoughts,  the  sky  darkened  suddenly. 

African  thunder  clouds  gathered  with  amazing 
rapidity  and  a  sudden  gust  of  wind  whirled  a  doily 
from  the  little  table.  The  few  canoes  on  the  river 
scurried  for  shelter. 

She  rose,  called  a  maid  as  loudly  as  she  could,  and 
held  her  fingers  to  her  ears  as  the  first  clap  of  thunder 
rent  the  sultry  silence — the  first  great  drop  of  rain 
splashed  upon  the  veranda  rail. 

Reaching  her  sitting-room  and  hurriedly  closing  the 


66  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

windows  and  doors,  she  sat  in  semi-darkness  watching 
the  forked  flashes  of  nature's  anger  chase  each  other 
around  the  darkening  line  of  the  horizon,  while  peal 
upon  crashing  peal  of  thunder  followed  in  rapid  and 
deafening  succession. 

And  then  the  rain  came — a  solid  sheet  of  water, 
blotting  out  the  river  and  Marsden's — everything  be 
yond  the  veranda  uprights;  crowding  her  into  still 
narrower  compass  with  the  vultures  of  her  thoughts 
tearing  at  her  heart  in  a  gray-black  world  in  which 
she  was  alone. 

But  there  were  no  tears.  Her  pain  went  too  deep  for 
that.  She  sat  quite  still  in  a  roomy  Madeira  chair, 
staring  out  at  the  gaunt  veranda  uprights  that  were 
stark  against  the  gray  wall  of  water  beyond,  too  numb 
to  be  afraid. 

Again  and  again  her  mind  drifted  toward  Saganna, 
and  a  picture  she  had  formed  at  the  very  birth  of  Clav- 
ering's  plight  rose  up  to  torment  her  writhing  soul. 

It  was  a  lurid  scene,  filled  with  flashes  of  fire  and 
lazy  puffs  of  smoke  curling  upward.  The  dark  brown 
wall  of  the  compound  was  pock-marked  with  bullet 
holes ;  blood  and  sweat-streaked  faces  came  out  of  the 
blur  of  fight  and  still  forms  lay  staring  glassily  heaven 
ward! 

The  deadly  outer  circle  was  creeping  nearer  and 
nearer,  and  the  vicious  crack  and  spit  of  rifles  was  in 
her  ears. 

And  in  the  midst  of  it  all  she  saw  Clavering — cool, 
easy,  and  even  careless,  gambling  with  his  life  and 
freedom,  which  were  more  valuable  to  her  then  than 
all  the  wealth  in  the  world. 

All  at  once,  breaking  in  upon  her  sordid  reverie 
with  nerve-shaking  suddenness,  her  sitting-room  door, 
leading  from  the  dining-room,  was  thrown  open,  and 
she  started  to  her  feet  as  a  huge  figure  in  a  slouch  hat, 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  SAGANNA  67 

black  oilskin  coat  and  rainboots,  whirled  in,  closing  the 
door  swiftly  behind  him. 

"Hope  I  don't  intrude?  Thought  you  might  be 
frightened !" 

It  was  McClure. 

The  sound  of  his  deep  bass  voice,  though  not  the 
sound  she  had  hoped  for,  was  welcome  enough,  and 
she  made  a  desperate  effort  to  show  it  as  she  told  him 
to  be  quick  about  putting  his  dripping  coat  and  boots 
into  the  bathroom,  since  the  maids  had  evidently  de 
serted  their  posts  in  the  rain. 

When  he  had  obeyed,  she  told  him,  more  hurriedly 
perhaps  than  was  necessary,  that  she  was  more  than 
glad  to  see  him,  and  that  he  might  smoke  if  he  cared  to. 

"I'm  all  alone,"  she  finished. 

McClure' s  heavy  eyebrows  lowered,  and  he  glanced 
searchingly  at  her  from  out  of  their  shadow. 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  he  said  soothingly,  and  the 
wicker  chair  he  chose  squeaked  and  creaked  protest 
against  his  bulk.  "These  little  rainstorms  are  harm 
less.  A  lot  of  fuss  over  nothing.  But  I  thought  since 
it  was  your  first  experience  and  you  were  alone  I'd 
come  over  and — well — I'm  here!" 

"Thank  you.  It  was  very  good  of  you.  I  hope  you 
didn't  get  very  wet?" 

She  rose  and  felt  his  shoulders  and  arms  to  con 
vince  herself,  and  McClure  laughed  oddly — a  forced 
sound  that  would  have  jarred  upon  sensitive  ears. 

Miss  Severoid  scarcely  heard  it.  Even  as  she  made 
sure  that  McClure' s  raincoat  had  been  perfect  protec 
tion  against  the  elements,  her  mind  was  groping 
through  the  darkness  and  the  rain  toward  Saganna. 

"You're  not  wet  a  bit,"  she  said,  going  back  to  her 
chair.  "But  you  really  shouldn't  have  come.  I  wasn't 
afraid." 

"No?"     McClure  wondered  what  had  happened  to 


68  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

her  voice — it  was  so  small  and  husky.  "Want  me  to 
light  the  lamp?  We  can  hardly  see  each  other." 

"Oh,  that  doesn't  matter.  I  mean — I'd  rather  not. 
I  like  this  sort  of  end-of -the- world  effect.  Gracious — 
isn't  it  raining!" 

"A  little.     Can't  see  the  river — can  you?" 

"Not  a  thing.  I  never  saw  rain  like  this  before. 
Does  it  last  long?" 

"Sometimes.  But  this  won't  last  longer  than  an 
hour  or  two.  It's  too  early  in  the  season.  The  Sa- 
ganna  party  will  get  wet  enough,  though." 

"Ye-yes.  I  suppose  so.  I  hope  Mrs.  Steel  doesn't 
catch  cold." 

McClure  laughed  shortly.  There  was  a  heaviness 
in  the  atmosphere  that  was  not  the  fault  of  the  weather. 

"Mr.  Steel  is  more  likely  to  be  the  victim,"  he  de 
clared. 

With  a  supreme  effort  Miss  Severoid  smiled  and 
tried  to  shake  off  the  numbness  and  the  sense  of  help 
lessness  that  were  dragging  like  leaden  weights  upon 
her  tongue  and  spirits. 

But  an  awkward  quiet  settled  over  them,  and  the 
lashing  of  the  rain,  like  dull  thunder,  upon  the  galva 
nized  iron  roof  was  not  a  soothing  sound. 

Remembering  that  he  might  smoke,  McClure  pro 
duced  a  cigar,  but  did  not  light  it.  He  fidgeted  about 
in  his  chair,  searching  his  mind  for  something  interest 
ing — apart  from  the  Saganna  affair.  That  topic  inev 
itably  meant  approaching  the  matter  of  the  protection 
he  had  promised  her,  and  he  did  not  intend  to  refer  to 
that  again  until  she  did. 

"Perhaps — that  is — perhaps  I'm  bothering  you,"  he 
managed  to  say  at  last.  "I  think  you'd  rather  be 
alone,  wouldn't  you?" 

Miss  Severoid  started. 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  SAGANNA  69 

"Gracious !     I — I'd  forgotten  you  were  here !" 

"Thanks." 

"No,  no — I  don't  mean  it  that  way!  You — you 
are  very  good  to  me,  and  you  don't  bother  me  a  bit. 
You  came  out  in  all  that  rain  just  because  you  thought 
I'd  be  afraid  to  be  alone,  and  then  you — well — you've 
no  idea  what  a  comfort  it  is  sometimes  to — to  have 
some  one  near  who  can  sit  and  say  nothing,  yet  be 
there,  strong  and  quiet  and  big,  ready  to  help — if  one 
needs  help !" 

McClure's  color  deepened  a  little,  and  Miss  Severoid 
did  not  fail  to  notice  it. 

"I  see.     Do  you  need  any  help  ?" 

"N-no — not  quite.  Please — that  is — don't  let's  talk 
— about  me  particularly.  I'm — oh,  I'm  out  of  sorts, 
that's  all;  the  weather  and — and  everything —  Tell 
me  a  story !  You  must  know  lots  of  them.  Tell  me 
about  yourself — the  things  you've  done  and  the  places 
you've  been.  You  look  as  if  you'd  been  everywhere. 
Have  you?" 

"Almost."  McClure  smiled  dryly.  "And  I've 
learned  that  the  Golden  Gate  is  not  as  far  away  from 
the  Saltmarket  as  I  am  from  knowing  anything  about 
ypu.  I  know  you  were  a  shepherdess  once,  and — " 

"You  know — "  Miss  Severoid  got  slowly  to  her 
feet  and,  choking  back  the  rest  of  what  she  meant  to 
say,  moved  away  from  him  toward  the  windows. 

Her  face  had  become  white  and  drawn  in  a  moment, 
and  her  lips  a  knifelike  line. 

McClure  sat  very  quiet,  watching  her. 

"I'm  sorry  if  I've  hurt  you,"  he  said  at  last.  "Per 
haps  I'd  better  go?" 

No  answer.     She  did  not  even  turn  her  head. 

McClure  chewed  his  mustache,  bit  upon  his  unlit 
cigar,  stared  at  his  boots,  out  at  the  thick  fog  of  the 


70  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

rain,  and  at  the  back  of  Miss  Severoid's  dull  gold  head. 
He  seemed  to  get  very  little  satisfaction  out  of  any  of 
these  things. 

The  silence  grew  heavier  and  heavier;  a  volcanic 
quiet  that  threatened  to  explode  any  moment.  Even 
when  the  trader  rose,  to  the  accompaniment  of  much 
creaking  and  squeaking  of  his  chair,  the  young 
woman's  trimly  rounded  figure  at  the  window,  sil 
houetted  against  the  gray  light,  remained  perfectly 
motionless  as  though  she  had  not  heard. 

McClure  found  his  coat,  hat  and  rainboots  on  tip 
toe  ;  slipped  quietly  into  them  and  reached  the  side  door 
leading  out  to  the  dining-room  and  the  front  veranda, 
not  wishing  to  use  Miss  Severoid's  private  entrance 
because  of  the  rain. 

Still  she  did  not  move.  All  the  vivacity  had  gone 
out  of  her  face,  leaving  it  dull  and  white  and  almost 
expressionless.  But  her  teeth  were  set  firmly  to 
gether. 

"I'll  go  out  this  way,"  McClure  announced  in  a  low 
tone.  "Just  send  for  me,  if  you  need  me.  Good-by !" 

Miss  Severoid's  chin  jerked  up  a  little  and  came 
round  slowly.  It  was  too  dark  to  see  her  face  clearly, 
and  McClure  only  caught  a  flash  of  the  perfect  profile 
against  the  light. 

But  he  never  forgot  it.     It  was  like  a  cameo. 

"Thank  you.     I'll  remember  that.     Good-by!" 

In  another  moment  she  was  alone,  listening  to  the 
pouading  of  his  heavy  feet  passing  through  the  dining- 
room  to  the  front  veranda  and  thence  downstairs. 

Then  she  turned  and  went  slowly  back  to  her  chair. 

She  felt  that  she  was  suffocating,  and  presently  she 
rose  again  to  walk  impatiently  up  and  down  the  floor, 
clenching  her  teeth  till  the  pressure  hurt. 

Ere  many  minutes  had  gone  she  had  forgotten  Mc 
Clure — even  his  reference  to  the  "shepherdess."  Her 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  SAGANNA  71 

mind — numbed  and  weary  with  fear  since  morning — 
was  staggering  back  to  Rama's  compound  at  Saganna. 

She  scarcely  saw  the  storm  drifting  northward,  and 
the  canoes  on  the  river,  emerging  from  the  shelter  of 
the  overhanging  bush,  were  blurred  specks  before  her 
eyes. 

When  her  maid  came  to  throw  open  the  windows 
and  the  doors  again  the  usual  "Thank  you!"  was 
wanting. 

And  then,  out  of  the  mist  and  the  blackness,  a 
shuffling  footstep  on  the  front  veranda  came  to  her  and 
made  her  start,  stop  and  wait — ready  to  scream. 

The  step  shuffled  nearer  and  nearer.  After  what 
seemed  an  age  the  author  of  the  sound  came  into  view 
and  stopped  before  her  open  door. 

It  was  Cralla ! 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  SPECIAL  CORRESPONDENT 

CRALLA'S  helmet  was  in  his  hand,  held  out  a  little 
from  his  side  toward  Miss  Severoid. 

She  took  two  hurried  steps  forward,  then  halted 
abruptly,  gulping  down  the  impulsive  question  she 
intended  to  put  to  him. 

Inside  the  helmet  was  one  of  Clavering's  carefully 
folded  notes. 

Cralla's  face  looked  puffy,  as  though  he  had  been 
indulging  in  some  terrible  orgy  and  had  but  recently 
awakened  from  its  effects.  His  tawny  skin,  the  color 
of  dried  mango-bark  juice,  had  the  splotched  appear 
ance  common  to  the  native  after  fever  or  debauch. 

His  expression  was  one  of  satisfied  submission,  as 
though  he  knew  quite  well  that,  even  though  a  chief, 
he  was  nevertheless  a  very  insignificant  mortal  in  the 
eyes  of  the  beautiful  white  lady  whose  soft,  rich  color 
was  creeping  back  into  her  cheeks  and  lips  even  as  he 
watched. 

But  the  dignity  of  his  crisp,  gray  head  was  still  with 
him,  and  as  he  stood  a  few  respectful  paces  off  Miss 
Severoid  did  not  know  whether  to  fear  or  pity  him. 

A  careful  glance  through  the  open  windows  and 
across  the  creek  assured  her  that  McClure  was  not  in 
his  accustomed  corner,  and  another  in  other  directions 
about  her  said  it  was  quite  safe  to  take  the  note  from 
Cralla's  helmet. 

72 


THE  SPECIAL  CORRESPONDENT       73 

Holding  her  breath  as  she  unfolded  the  epistle, 
which  was  much  bulkier  than  those  received  on  former 
occasions,  this  is  what  she  read : 

SPECIAL  TO  MISS  SEVEROID ! 
(From  Her  Own  Correspondent  at  the  Front.) 

Outside  Rama's  Compound,  Saganna.  Twentieth.  Fierce  bat 
tle  raging.  Am  watching  it  from  a  box-seat.  I  have  an  uneasy 
suspicion  that  poor  Rama  and  his  crowd  are  being  licked  because 
a  junior  mechanic  of  warfare  thinks  I  am  somewhere  in  the 
midst  of  the  black  mob  that  is  bottled  up  in  the  chief's  mud 
palace. 

Rama's  boys  have  acquired  Martini-Henrys,  Lee-Metfords,  and 
a  Winchester  or  two — though  I  can't  say  where  they  got  them — 
and  are  fighting  for  home  and  mother.  Not  because  they  particu 
larly  want  to,  but  because  those  Yoruba  soldier-men  won't  stop 
shooting. 

Of  course  Rama's  people  have  no  right  to  have  rifles. 

That  constitutes  rebellion ;  but  it's  quite  the  most  bloodthirsty 
scrap  over  a  technicality  that  I  have  ever  seen. 

I  don't  know  who  told  the  lieutenant  person  that  I  was  in 
Rama's  compound,  but  I  suspect  that  our  mutual  friend  Cralla, 
through  the  medium  of  one  of  his  satellites,  is  the  culprit. 

He  doesn^t  like  Rama.  At  any  rate,  I  see  that  the  wily  chief 
from  Akerri  is  very  active  among  the  Yoruba  rear-guard,  though 
he  is  careful  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  bullets. 

The  Segwanga  contingent  is  beginning  to  arrive;  Dawson, 
Fletcher,  Carmichael  and  the  rest. 

I  see  the  Violet  coming  up  now. 

Glad  you  are  not  on  board,  because  Sherman  knew  what  he 
was  talking  about. 

LATE  EXTRA ! 

Fletcher,  one  of  your  most  persistent  tea-drinkers,  is  down. 
Hope  it's  only  the  shoulder,  but  it  looks  a  little  lower.  Fletcher 
isn't  a  bad  sort.  Mrs.  Steel  is  taking  care  of  him. 

Rama  dropped  an  hour  ago.  His  boys  are  just  fighting.  They 
don't  understand. 

Dawson,  the  D.  C,  will  need  a  crutch  to  get  to  your  tea-parties 
in  future.  Knee  smashed. 

I  don't  see  your  sandy-haired  friend  in  the  forefront  of  the 
battle,  though.  What's  he  doing?  Sitting  on  his  veranda  sighing 
across  the  creek  to  you? 

I  am  going  to  send  Cralla  along  with  this. 


74  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

Since  you  are  alone,  ask  him  about  young  Debenham.     He'll 
tell  you  all  he  knows,  because  I'll  tell  him  to. 
I  think  it  is  going  to  rain. 

LATEST  EXTRA  II 

The  compound  wall  has  caved  in  and  the  Yorubas  have 
charged.  I  think  they  wanted  to  get  it  over  with  and  get  in  out 
of  the  wet  Rama's  boys,  or  all  that's  left  of  them,  are  scooting 
all  over  the  shop.  The  Yoruba  is  happiest  when  he's  dropping 
his  man  on  the  run.  It  isn't  pretty. 

And  now  the  lieutenant  person  is  poking  among  the  ugly  little 
heaps  in  the  compound  searching  for  yours  truly.  Cralla  is  help 
ing  him. 

Hope  you  haven't  been  worried  about  me? 

Au  revoir.  G.  C. 

Miss  Severoid  felt  a  little  sick  and  her  knees  trem 
bled.  But  they  supported  her  as  far  as  a  chair. 
Cralla,  still  submissive  and  emotionless,  remained  in 
the  doorway. 

There  were  a  few  moments  of  quiet  while  Miss 
Severoid  grappled  with  the  colossal  impudence,  the 
irony,  subtlety,  and  completeness  of  Covering's  "spe 
cial  from  the  front." 

She  did  not  ask  herself  any  questions  about  the  "box 
seat,"  though  she  imagined  it  might  be  a  particularly 
leafy  tree.  Neither  did  she  give  much  consideration 
to  the  reference  to  her  "sandy-haired  friend,"  except  to 
wonder  how  Clavering  came  by  all  his  information. 

Her  first  sensation,  because  of  the  apparently  use 
less  "slaughter  of  the  innocents,"  was  one  of  repug 
nance  that  made  her  shrink  from  the  unctuous,  treach 
erous  Jackrie  chief  as  from  a  contagious  and  filthy 
disease.  But  as  she  sat  down,  breathing  a  little  more 
deeply  than  usual  and  glancing  rapidly  about,  she  be 
came  calmer  and  colder  and  more  deliberate. 

Her  fears  departed  as  suddenly  as  they  had  come. 
Hope  was  born  again,  and  with  it  a  keener  apprecia 
tion  of  Clavering's  ability. 


THE  SPECIAL  CORRESPONDENT       75 

When  a  maid  had  scuffled  through  the  dining-room 
into  the  hum  of  activity  in  the  kitchen  below  Miss 
Severoid  looked  toward  Cralla  again. 

There  was  no  impudence  or  expectation  in  his  look 
or  attitude.  He  simply  stood  there  waiting  deferen 
tially  to  be  spoken  to,  without  appearing  to  care  wheth 
er  Miss  Severoid  would  do  so  or  not. 

"Mr. — Mr.  Clavering  tell  you  to  tell  me  something?" 
She  rose  and  went  nearer  to  the  door. 

Cralla  immediately  descended  upon  one  knee,  said 
"Doh!"  very  respectfully,  and,  standing  erect  again, 
answered  rapidly  in  a  low  monotone: 

"Be  so.  I  be  chief !  I  no  talk  lie  to  white  mammy. 
You  savvy — Deb'nham?" 

Miss  Severoid  nodded,  with  her  attention  fixed  upon 
Cralla's  face — his  mouth  and  eyes  particularly.  They 
made  her  uneasy,  though  she  was  not  at  all  sure  why 
they  did  so. 

"He  live  for  Benin  Cit',"  Cralla  droned  hurriedly. 
"Be  big  money  palaver.  Last  time  I  look  him,  he  be 
all  ri'.  When  he  go  leave  Benin  Cit'  he  hab  more 
money  than  Niger  Comp'ny." 

Miss  Severoid's  lips  came  together  and  her  color 
drifted  again. 

She  had  heard  of  the  walled  city  of  Benin  and  of 
its  cruel,  filthy  inhabitants.  Stories  of  the  fabulous 
riches  left  there  by  expelled  Portuguese  adventurers 
in  the  fifteenth  century  were  legion,  but  most  of  them 
were  to  be  taken  with  several  grains  of  salt. 

Some  one  had  told  her,  too,  that  no  white  man 
within  recent  times  had  ever  entered  the  place  and 
escaped  alive. 

"When  and  where  did  you  see  him  last  ?"  she  asked 
calmly  enough,  in  spite  of  another  sinking  weakness 
in  her  limbs. 

"In  Benin  Cit' — one  moon  pass." 


76  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"How  did  he  get  in  there?     I  thought—" 

Cralla  looked  apologetic. 

"He  go  dere  all  same  he  be — slave — for  me." 

"Your—" 

A  light  step  scuffling  through  one  of  the  adjoining 
rooms  halted  her.  She  waited  on  the  rack  till  it  had 
passed  on  downstairs.  Cralla's  look  of  apology  be 
came  more  acute. 

" — your — slave?  You  mean  he  dressed  up  as  a 
native,  blacked  his  face  and  body,  and — and — " 

Miss  Severoid's  voice  died  away  as  though  the 
picture  was  beyond  the  power  of  words.  Yet  some 
thing  very  near  to  a  smile  hovered  in  the  cor 
ners  of  her  mouth,  and  there  was  a  strange  ten 
derness  and  pride  in  her  eyes  that  Cralla  did  not 
understand. 

He  mumbled  in  Jackrie  to  himself,  then  translated 
it  into  pidgin  English. 

"He  want  to  go  so.  No  be  my  palaver  if  small-boy 
white  man  go  crazy  in  him  head.  When  Chief  Daka 
of  Benin  Cit'  done  buy  slave  from  me,  suppose  he  buy 
Deb'nham!  Be  my  palaver?  Be  dat  way  me  an' 
Deb'nham  bet.  Deb'nham  win.  Palaver  set." 

Miss  Severoid's  cheeks  assumed  a  deathlike  hue. 
She  took  a  lurching  step  forward,  gripping  Cralla's 
arm,  scarcely  knowing  what  she  did.  No  story  of 
Benin  City  was  complete  without  mention  of  Daka, 
and  she  had  heard  of  him,  too ;  the  most  cruel,  diabol 
ical,  blood-loving  potentate  that  ever  sent  a  slave  writh 
ing  into  eternity. 

"You — you  sold  him  to — Daka!" 

It  was  just  a  breath,  but  Cralla  involuntarily  backed 
away  from  the  sudden  fire  that  leaped,  like  a  dormant 
hell  let  loose,  into  her  eyes.  A  Jackrie  guttural  of 
surprise  escaped  him. 


THE  SPECIAL  CORRESPONDENT       77 

"Be  so  we  bet,"  he  mumbled  again  sullenly.  "If 
small-boy  white  man  be  fool — " 

He  shrugged  his  great  shoulders  significantly,  and 
Miss  Severoid  suddenly  jerked  her  hand  free  from  his 
arm  with  something  akin  to  loathing,  though  most  of 
the  gesture  was  simply  an  echo  of  the  white  anger  in 
her  face. 

She  retreated  slowly  to  her  chair,  trying  to  think 
clearly.  Oddly  enough,  the  possibility  that  Cralla 
might  not  be  telling  the  truth  did  not  suggest  itself  at 
all. 

The  Jackrie  looked  about  him  cautiously,  glinting 
through  narrowed  lids  along  the  veranda,  across  Mars- 
den's  Creek,  and  out  toward  the  river.  Then,  immo 
bile  and  respectful  as  before,  he  stood  patiently  await 
ing  Miss  Severoid's  pleasure. 

She  was  struggling  to  gain  the  mastery  of  herself 
and  of  the  things  she  wanted  to  say.  Questions  were 
crowding  her  mind  to  the  suffocation-point,  and  in 
place  of  the  hopelessness  of  that  morning  there  had 
come  a  gnawing  anxiety  that  was  plainly  indicated  by 
the  manner  in  which  she  crushed  Clavering's  "report" 
in  her  hands,  slowly  tearing  it  to  pieces. 

Apparently  she  had  forgotten  even  to  be  cautious 
and  did  not  seem  to  care  who  came  or  went. 

Another  lurid  picture  was  forming  in  her  mind.  It 
took  a  few  minutes  to  get  the  first  faint  grasp  of  the 
situation  and  a  few  more  to  put  her  thoughts  coher 
ently  into  words. 

Cralla  waited.  There  was  neither  pity  nor  remorse 
nor  covetousness  in  his  face.  It  relaxed  only  when  he 
spoke,  and  he  emphasized  what  he  had  to  say  by  a 
grimace  or  a  shrug  or  a  variety  of  gesticulations,  sim 
ply  because  his  vocabulary  was  inadequate. 

"How — how  could  he  mix  with  those  other  people 


78  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

if  he  could  not  talk  the  language?"  Miss  Severoid  es 
sayed  at  last  in  whispering  doubt. 

"He  no  talk.  Be  all  same  he  no  get  tongue.  Daka 
like  him  so." 

Miss  Severoid  blinked,  swallowed  once  or  twice,  then 
persisted : 

"Can't  we  buy  him  back?" 

"Daka  no  sell." 

"Why?" 

"He  neber  sell  slave.  He  buy  all  time."  Cralla 
shrugged  his  shoulders  again.  "Daka  slave  die  plen'y 
quick." 

It  was  pure,  uncivilized  brutality,  and  Miss  Sever 
oid  shrank  from  it  as  from  the  knout,  clenching  her 
teeth  and  closing  her  lips  as  though  to  keep  from  cry 
ing  out.  Quite  involuntarily  her  glance  traveled 
slowly  in  dumb  appeal  toward  the  shady  corner  of 
Marsden's  veranda. 

Cralla  followed  the  direction  of  that  look,  and  his 
eyes  narrowed  evilly  in  a  manner  that  did  not  portend 
anything  very  pleasant  for  McClure.  But  when  Miss 
Severoid's  attention  fell  upon  him  again  he  was  as 
respectful  and  submissive  as  usual. 

She  regarded  him  for  a  moment  or  two  in  silence, 
and  again  she  had  that  uneasy  sensation  of  distrust 
regarding  his  eyes  and  mouth. 

Then  she  rose,  not  taking  her  eyes  from  his  face  for 
a  moment. 

Cralla  retreated  a  step,  then  another,  cringing.  He 
did  not  seem  to  know  what  to  make  of  the  steely  blue 
steadiness  of  Miss  Severoid's  gaze.  Quite  plainly  it 
bothered — no,  frightened  and  ruled  him. 

"Send  Clavering  to  me — to-night."  Her  voice  was 
as  cold  as  her  look  and  as  unwavering.  "I  don't  care 
where  he  is.  Tell  him  he  must  be  here — to-night !" 

Cralla's  lips  moved  as  though  he  would  protest,  but 


THE  SPECIAL  CORRESPONDENT       79 

the  words  died  in  nameless,  throaty  sounds  that  seemed 
to  hurt. 

"Now— go!" 

She  might  have  spoken  to, a  dog  that  way. 

And  Cralla,  with  an  uneasy,  sniveling  look  of  be 
wilderment  upon  his  face — robbed  of  his  majesty  for 
the  moment — went  rapidly. 


CHAPTER  X 

AGIGI   TAKES   A    HAND 

THE  Saganna  party  filtered  back  to  Segwanga  in 
irregular  procession  shortly  after  dark. 

It  was  not  a  happy  home-coming. 

That  Rama  and  his  people  had  been  practically 
wiped  out;  that  a  bubbling  pot  of  rebellion  had  been 
snatched  from  the  fire  ere  it  had  had  a  chance  to  boil 
over,  was  little  satisfaction  to  the  dusty,  blood-smeared 
lieutenant  of  the  "Waffs."  He  made  up  his  cas 
ualty  list  and  regarded  a  heap  of  contraband  rifles 
which  had  undoubtedly  been  sold  to  the  rebels  by 
Clavering — who  had  vanished  into  thin  air,  leaving 
no  trace  behind. 

Without  doubt,  Clavering  had  been  in  Rama's  com 
pound  within  the  past  twenty-four  hours.  When  and 
how  he  had  left  it  was  just  one  more  of  the  unsolved 
mysteries  that  made  men  liken  him  to  a  harmattan 
mist. 

The  only  person  to  leave  Rama's  compound  after 
the  Yoruba  circle  had  closed  around  it  hacl  been  Chief 
Cralla  of  Akerri  and  a  few  of  his  boys,  one  of  whom 
carried  a  harmless,  necessary,  black  tarpaulin-covered 
carrier's  pack. 

They  all  promptly  denied  complicity  in  the  threat 
ened  rebellion.  Cralla  himself  particularly  blasphemed 
against  the  machinations  of  Clavering,  with  whom  he 
would  have  nothing  to  do.  This  attitude  he  empha 
sized  by  remaining  of  his  own  free  will  in  the  rear  of 

80 


AGIGI  TAKES  A  HAND  81 

the  Yoruba  lines  till  the  fight  was  over,  chanting 
weird  incantations  to  his  favorite  j'uju  and  praying  for 
Clavering's  annihilation. 

But  when  he  had  satisfied  himself  that  Clavering  had 
escaped,  he  beat  a  hasty  retreat  from  the  scene,  travel 
ing  to  Segwanga  under  government  protection  in  the 
little  cabin  of  a  supply-launch,  with  all  the  pomp  of  a 
prince  of  the  blood. 

The  missionary  and  his  wife  did  not  return  directly 
to  the  mission.  They  were  too  busy  in  the  impro 
vised  hospital  at  the  consulate,  administering  to  the 
material  and  spiritual  wants  of  those  who  needed  them. 
They  sent  word  to  Miss  Severoid  to  "hold  the  fort"  a 
few  hours  longer,  to  which  she  replied  that  she  would 
like  to  help  if  there  were  anything  at  all  she  could  do 
for  any  one. 

Apparently  there  was  no  one  who  needed  her,  so  she 
sat  out  on  her  veranda,  watching  the  river  and — 
hoping. 

Launches  ran  hither  and  thither  incessantly.  A 
cargo-steamer  that  had  come  up  just  before  dark  lay 
out  in  midstream,  a  silent,  black  hulk,  guilty  of  no 
more  illumination  than  the  law  demanded. 

Vague  shapes  of  canoes  glided  past,  and  there  were 
others  huddled  in  the  shadow  of  Marsden's  breakwater. 
A  low  drone  of  unusual  activity  swelled  up  and  died 
into  a  murmur  that  rose  again  upon  the  least  excuse. 

The  watch  upon  every  beach  had  been  doubled, 
partly  against  marauding  sympathizers  with  the  de 
funct  Rama,  and  greatly  because  it  was  Clavering's 
habit,  after  a  performance  of  the  Saganna  order,  to 
follow  it  immediately  with  something  peculiarly  devil 
ish,  as  though  to  get  some  satisfaction  for  the  trouble 
to  which  he  had  been  put. 

Miss  Severoid  watched  and  waited  patiently,  with 
her  eyes  upon  the  corner  of  the  veranda  where  Claver- 


82  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

ing  had  made  his  appearance  upon  a  previous  occasion. 

And  then  a  diminutive,  cherub-faced  boy  came,  as 
it  seemed,  out  of  nowhere,  and  stood  at  her  side,  pre 
senting  a  note. 

It  was  Agigi,  McClure's  child-valet. 

Suppressing  an  exclamation  and  an  inquiry  as  to 
how  he  had  come  there,  Miss  Severoid  rather  blankly 
accepted  the  note  and  read  it.  while  Agigi  waited : 

DEAR  Miss  SEVEROID: 

I  am  at  Perkins  &  Gray's,  trying  to  get  poor  Fletcher  to  go  to 
sleep.  He  was  rather  badly  hit  to-day — is  now  delirious — and 
am  afraid  he  won't  be  quiet  till  he  sees  you. 

If  you'd  care  to  come  down  I'll  have  one  of  Fletcher's  assist 
ants  look  after  things  for  you  while  you  are  gone.  Just  say  to 
the  messenger  that  it  is  all  right,  and  I'll  send  your  relief  and 
escort  right  over.  Sincerely, 

D.  McCmRE. 

Miss  Severoid's  hand  bearing  the  note  descended 
into  her  lap  and  remained  there  several  minutes  while 
she  tried  to  come  to  a  decision.  It  was  not  easy. 

Clavering  might  arrive  any  moment  and — 

She  did  not  care  to  go  beyond  that. 

Quite  suddenly  noticing  Agigi  again,  she  realized 
that  he  was  waiting  for  an  answer. 

"I  don't — I  mean — that  is — say  I — say  it's — all 
right." 

Immediately  she  wanted  to  say  it  was  impossible. 
But  the  boy  was  not  there.  He  vanished  around  the 
corner  of  the  veranda  and  down-stairs,  a  small,  almost 
invisible  slip  of  humanity  which  moved  with  a  swift, 
soundless  tread  that  was  uncanny. 

But  in  the  black  shadows  of  a  water-tank  he  stopped, 
as  a  low,  peculiar  whistle  struck  upon  his  ears. 

It  came,  it  seemed,  from  the  other  side  of  the  stair 
way.  Almost  at  once'  the  sinuous  figure  of  Ilora  ap 
peared  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  under  the  light  of  a  lamp 
that  hung  from  the  veranda  roof. 


AGIGI  TAKES  A  HAND  83 

She  came  immediately  down  to  the  beach  and  headed 
in  the  general  direction  of  the  water-front,  where  two 
hurricane  lanterns  swung  idly  in  the  hands  of  the 
double  watch. 

Agigi,  curious  and  invisible,  waited  to  see  what 
would  happen.  Because  he  was  watching  Ilora  he  did 
not  see  Clavering  till  that  gentleman — whose  bump  of 
impudence,  in  the  absence  of  the  missionary  and  his 
wife,  had  made  him  dispense  with  the  trouble  of 
climbing — had  almost  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

But  Agigi  saw  him  there  for  a  second,  just  as  he 
had  seen  Ilora — under  the  lamp. 

The  whites  of  the  boy's  eyes  showed,  and  became 
still  more  prominent  as  Clavering  turned  and  disap 
peared  in  the  direction  of  Miss  Severoid's  quarters. 

With  the  body  of  a  child  and  the  mind  of  a  man, 
Agigi  waited  to  hear  a  scream. 

A  minute  passed — two— three. 

There  was  no  scream.  No  suspicious  sound  of  any 
kind. 

Agigi  did  not  understand  it  at  all.  But  he  thought 
McClure  might. 

In  a  moment,  yet  very  cautiously,  he  had  slipped 
around  the  water-tank  and  was  heading,  like  a  spirit 
of  the  darkness,  as  swiftly  as  his  little  feet  could  carry 
him  toward  Perkins  &  Gray's. 

Five  minutes  later,  in  the  privacy  of  Fletcher's  office- 
sitting-room,  the  boy  was  breathlessly  whispering  into 
McClure's  ear : 

"Dem  new  miss'n  lady  say  be  all  ri',  but  dem  time 
I  lef  miss'n  house,  I  loog  Mass'  Clav'rin'  go  up-stai'. 
He  go  for  dem  new  miss'n  lady  room.  I  wait  to  hear 
her  holler.  But  she  no  holler.  All  be  sof'ly,  sof'ly, 
all  same  catchee  monkey." 

McClure  straightened. 

There  was  a  smoldering  glow  in  his  eyes — nothing 


84  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

violent,  but  quiet — like  death.  A  brighter  flame  of 
passion  would  have  been  less  dangerous. 

Without  a  word  he  turned  and,  reentering  Fletcher's 
bedroom,  caught  the  eye  of  one  of  the  wounded  and 
delirious  trader's  assistants. 

"I  am  going  to  fetch  Miss  Severoid  myself,"  was  all 
he  said,  and  immediately  went  out,  drawing  his  belt  a 
little  tighter. 

When  one  has  lived  in  the  midst  of  mystery  and  the 
promise  of  sudden  death  for  any  length  of  time,  one 
learns  to  walk  quietly  and  to  speak  little.  McClure, 
in  spite  of  his  bulk,  made  hardly  any  sound. 

He  was  not  even  allowing  himself  to  think. 

Crossing  Perkins  &  Gray's  beach  he  dived  silently 
and  without  a  lamp-boy  into  the  bush-path  leading  to 
the  mission. 

As  a  rule,  the  carrying  of  firearms  was  tabooed  by 
the  traders  and  government  officials  alike.  It  was  con 
sidered  to  be  one  of  the  unmistakable  signs  of  the 
"first-timer." 

But  not  when  Clavering  was  believed  to  be  in  the 
immediate  vicinity.  Then  every  man  looked  to  the 
loading  of  his  weapons  and  tested  the  steadiness  of  his 
right  hand. 

And  McClure  fondled  the  butt  of  the  .45  he  carried 
with  an  extremely  keen  satisfaction  as  he  went  very 
softly  through  the  darkness  toward  the  mission. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  path  he  encountered  the  mis 
sion-house  steward,  whom  he  did  not  recognize  in  the 
darkness. 

"Who's  that?"  he  demanded  in  a  voice  that  was 
harsh — almost  brutal. 

"I  be  miss'n  stewa'd,  sah.  I  go  to  Fletch'  beach, 
sah.  Miss  Sev'roid  done  sen'  me,  sah." 

McClure  grabbed  the  boy's  shoulder  in  a  grip  that 
hurt. 


AGIGI  TAKES  A  HAND  85 

"Miss  Severoid  sent  you?     How?     When?" 

"Jus'  dis  minit,  sah.  She  come  into  de  dinin'-room, 
sah,  an'  tell  me  to  say  dat  she  no  can  come  to  Fletch' 
beach  foh  an  hour." 

McClure  was  silent,  but  his  giant  body  stiffened  till 
the  tension  pained.  He  was  tempted  in  the  first  few 
moments  to  ram  the  implication  in  the  boy's  informa 
tion  back  down  his  throat. 

A  dull,  numbing  heaviness  came  to  him,  then  a  flash 
of  burning  anger;  and  then  he  was  quiet  again — a 
quiet  with  an  icy  chill  in  it. 

"Miss  Severoid  did  not  call  you  to  her  rooms  ?  She 
came  out  into  the  dining-room  and  told  you?" 

"Yessah." 

McClure' s  lips  broke  in  a  terrible  smile. 

"All  right.     Go  back.     I'll  tell  Mr.  Fletcher." 

The  boy  retraced  his  steps  hurriedly,  and  McClure, 
watching  him  go,  thanked  Heaven  for  the  regulation 
that  did  not  allow  native  help  to  roam  about  any  of  the 
beaches  after  eight  o'clock.  They  were  compelled  to 
remain  indoors  so  that  the  watch-boys  would  have 
fewer  people  to  watch.  That  was  at  least  one  benefit 
derived  from  the  "curfew." 

McClure  saw  the  slow-moving  light  of  one  of  the 
back-beach  watch-boys  passing  the  rear  of  the  mission- 
hall,  and  waited  till  it  came  a  little  nearer.  Then  he 
went  to  meet  it. 

"McClure,"  he  announced  in  a  low  voice  when  the 
boy  was  near  enough.  "I  go  beach-front." 

"All  ri',  sah." 

In  a  few  moments  the  trader  had  slipped  past  the 
mission-hall  and  had  reached  the  deeper  shadows  under 
the  veranda. 

Down  near  the  water-front  he  saw  two  lights;  one 
stationary,  the  other  moving  back  and  forth  over  a 
very  limited  beat,  as  though  it  did  not  care  to  get  too 


86  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

far  from  the  other  light.  This  revealed  dimly  the 
existence  of  a  woman  who  seemed  to  be  amusing  her 
self  with  the  affections  of  both  watch-boys — making 
one  jealous  of  the  other. 

McClure  did  not  mind.  In  fact,  just  then  he  pre 
ferred  the  watch-boys'  attention  to  be  diverted,  as  it 
permitted  him  to  reach  the  water-tank  under  Miss 
Severoid's  veranda  unchallenged  and  unobserved. 

There  was  a  white  light  burning  in  one  of  Miss  Sev 
eroid's  rooms.  The  green  one  was  turned  very  low. 

Crouching  in  the  deep  shadows  of  the  water-tank, 
commanding  the  stairs  and  the  stretch  of  the  veranda- 
rail  above  but  deprived  of  a  full  view  of  the  water 
front — McClure  waited. 


CHAPTER  XI 

INSTRUCTIONS 

i 

VERY  much  as  Agigi  had  done,  Clavering  had  ap 
peared  at  Miss  Severoid's  side  while  she  was  looking 
the  other  way. 

"You  sent  for  me?" 

She  wheeled  in  her  chair  and  faced  him. 

"Gra —     Why!     How — how  did  you — " 

"By  the  stairs.  They  are  easiest.  Shall  we  talk 
here  or  go  inside?" 

Miss  Severoid  rose  nervously  and  glanced  toward 
the  lights  across  Marsden's  creek. 

"You — I — that  is — you  can't  wait.  I  have  to  go 
down  to  Perkins  &  Gray's  to  help  put  poor  Mr.  Fletch 
er  to  sleep.  He's  delirious,  and — " 

A  throaty,  derisive  laugh  interrupted  her. 

"You  sent  for  me,  I  think.  Which  is  more  impor 
tant?  Fletcher's  delirium  or — young  Debenham?" 

"But—" 

"Will  Fletcher  help  you  bring  young  Debenham 
back?" 

"Oh,  bu-but  you  don't  understand!  I  said  I'd  go, 
and  they  are  going  to  send  some  one  for  me  and  some 
one  to  keep  house  while  I'm  gone.  So  you  see,  you 
can't—" 

"Find  a  maid  and  send  word  to  Fletcher  that  you 
can't  get  down  till  later — say  an  hour.  Any  excuse 
will  do.  But  why  give  any?  Shall  I  call  a  maid  for 
von,  or  will  you  do  it  yourself  ?" 

87 


88  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

Miss  Severoid  looked  at  him  curiously.  She  was 
neither  angry  nor  annoyed ;  just  doubtful.  But  Clav- 
ering's  very  masterfulness  and  quick  grasp  of  the 
situation  of  the  moment  were  indications  of  the  man 
ner  of  man  who  could  help  her  most. 

"Which  is  it  to  be?"  he  persisted  with  impatience. 

"Oh — I — "  She  paused  a  moment.  "Very  well; 
wait.  I'll  get  a  messenger,  and — and  perhaps  you'd 
better  go  inside.  You  are  too  conspicuous  out  here." 

She  smiled  to  him  over  her  shoulder  as  she  went 
quickly  toward  the  dining-room,  and  was  gone  little 
more  than  a  minute.  When  she  returned  he  was  seat 
ed,  as  upon  a  previous  visit,  in  the  darkest  corner  of 
her  sitting-room. 

"I  sent  the  steward,"  she  told  him  simply,  turning 
the  green  lamp  low.  Then,  walking  toward  him,  she 
halted  a  few  paces  away.  "You  know  why  I  sent  for 
you.  Have  you  anything  to  say  to  me  ?" 

Clavering  leaned  forward. 

"You  want  young  Debenham  brought  back  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"Does  that  matter?" 

"What  is  he  to  you?" 

Miss  Severoid's  head  drooped  a  little. 

"Please  don't  ask  me  any  questions.  Just  tell  me 
if  there's  a  chance  to — " 

"There  is  a  chance — if  you'll  take  it." 

"Wh-what?" 

Clavering  leaned  forward  a  little  more. 

"You  must  go  for  him." 

"/must?     How?" 

"Because  he  won't  come  away  otherwise.  We  could 
send  Cralla  to  talk  to  him,  but  I'm  afraid  that  would 
not  do  any  good.  He  would  probably  not  believe 
Cralla,  and  he  says  he  won't  leave  that  filthy  place  until 


INSTRUCTIONS  89 

he  gets  what  he  went  for.  I  never  met  any  one  who 
was  so  desperately  in  need  of  money — and  he  won't  get 
it.  The  upshot  of  his  particular  form  of  madness  will 
be — well,  he'll  die.  But  if  you  go  for  him — " 

"But  how  can  /  go  there  ?     I  thought — " 

"Cralla  will  take  you." 

"Crallal"  Miss  Severoid  drew  back,  feeling  rather 
chilly. 

"Oh,  Cralla  isn't  so  bad,"  Clavering  murmured 
gently.  "Besides,  it's  your  only  chance.  Of  course, 
I  can  understand  that  the  idea  of  traveling  alone  in 
Cralla's  company  isn't  very  proper  or  inviting.  If 
you'd  care  for  a  white  escort,  why  not  ask  one  of  your 
tea-drinkers  to  go  along?  Better  still,  your  sandy- 
haired  friend?  He  probably  knows  more  about  the 
country  than  any  of  the  others." 

The  note  of  easy  indifference,  combined  with  the 
magnanimous  advice  that  she  have  McClure  accom 
pany  her,  was  baffling. 

For  a  little  while  she  made  no  reply. 

Clavering  sat  back  in  his  chair,  crossing  his  knees 
with  sublime  nonchalance.  It  did  not  seem  to  matter 
to  him  whether  she  was  prepared  to  accept  his  sugges 
tion  or  not.  In  fact,  he  appeared  to  be  absorbed  in 
trying  to  locate  the  carpenter's  beetle  that  was  bumping 
its  hard-shelled  back  against  the  walls  in  its  blind  ef 
forts  to  escape  from  the  room. 

One  of  the  watch-boys  struck  "two  bells." 

"How — how  could  we  go?"  Miss  Severoid  asked 
quite  suddenly,  and  picked  up  a  fan  as  though  to  give 
her  nervous  hands  some  employment. 

"By  canoe  or  launch  part  of  the  way,  then  on  foot. 
It  isn't  very  far." 

"And  how  would  we  get  into  the  place?  You  talk 
as  if  we  had  nothing  to  do  but  walk  in  and  walk  out 
again." 


90  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

Covering's  teeth  gleamed  in  a  complacent  smile. 
Uncrossing  his  legs  leisurely,  he  rose. 

Some  one,  wishing  to  cross  the  beach  toward  Per 
kins  &  Gray's,  was  calling  for  a  lamp-boy. 

Clavering  listened  a  moment. 

"That's  Carmichael.  Must  be  going  down  to  see 
your  friend  Fletcher.  Perhaps  he  thinks  you  are  play 
ing  nurse. 

"But  about  Benin  City.  Don't  be  afraid.  It  is  very 
simple.  Cralla  will  show  you  how,  and  I  suggested 
McClure  in  case  you  were  not  prepared  to  trust  the 
chief.  Of  course  you  had  better  not  tell  McClure 
what  I  have  told  you.  If  you  did,  I'm  afraid  he 
wouldn't  go.  He'd  probably  think  you  were  insane." 

"Bu-but  that  doesn't  explain  anything!"  Miss  Sever- 
oid  exclaimed,  putting  aside  the  fan  again  as  if  it  both 
ered  her.  "What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  I  ask  you  to 
help  me,  and  you  suggest  the  names  of  other  people. 
I — I  thought  you'd —  Oh,  please— -don't  be  so  mys 
terious  !  I  can't  make  my  mind  solve  riddles." 

Clavering  went  a  step  nearer  to  her,  his  head  a  little 
upon  one  side — still  listening. 

"There  is  nothing  to  explain.  You  simply  take  a 
launch  and  provisions,  go  as  far  as  you  can  by  water, 
which  is  to  Saloko,  and  then  get  out  and  walk.  You'll 
go  into  Benin  City,  and  you'll  find  Debenham  waiting 
for  you.  Then  you'll  say  to  him :  'Come  out  of  this, 
you  idiot' — or  something  like  that;  and  if  you  mean 
enough  to  him,  he'll  come.  Then  you'll  get  back  to 
your  launch  and  return  here.  Simple,  isn't  it?" 

Miss  Severoid  studied  him  in  the  semi-darkness  in 
credulously. 

"I — I — how  do  I  know  you  are  speaking  the  truth  ?" 

"Thanks." 

"Well — it  sounds  ridiculous.  It  can't  be  so  easy  as 
that!" 


INSTRUCTIONS  91 

"Nothing  is  easy  if  one  doesn't  know  how.  Cralla 
knows.  He's  a  friend  of  Daka's,  and  of  mine.  If  he 
fails  you,  I  fail  you.  Do  you  think  I  would  trust  you 
in  his  hands  if  I  were  not  sure  of  him?" 

He  laughed  in  soft  deprecation  of  her  fears,  took 
another  quick  step  nearer  to  her.  Before  she  could 
escape  he  had  wound  his  arms  about  her. 

She  gasped,  struggled  for  a  second  or  two,  and  then 
was  still.  This  was  the  price  she  had  expected  to  pay 
for  Clavering's  usefulness,  and  when  his  arms  tight 
ened  and  his  lips  brushed  her  forehead  she  did  not 
move. 

"You  are  a  wonderful  little  woman,"  he  whispered. 
"Wonderful  and  unafraid.  But  you  hate  me  for  this. 
You  can't  scream  because  you  need  me,  and  you  won't 
fight  because  you  think  I  might  be  annoyed  and  refuse 
to  help  you.  That's  it,  isn't  it?" 

Miss  Severoid  swallowed.  She  did  not  like  to  have 
her  motives  read  so  plainly.  Her  lashes  fell  quickly, 
as  though  she  were  apologizing  to  herself  for  having 
made  them  so  obvious. 

"I — I'm  afraid  it  isn't — altogether,"  she  confessed 
haltingly,  and  tried  to  make  him  believe  that  she  meant 
it.  "You — you're  so  masterful — so  big  and — and  you 
don't  ask  if  you  may.  You  just — " 

Clavering  kissed  her  again — on  the  lips  this  time — 
and  his  own  were  burning. 

Miss  Severoid  shivered. 

"Oh — please!  We — we  mustn't!"  she  gasped,  and 
drew  away  from  him  a  little.  "It  isn't  right,  and 
— and  we've  got  so  much  to  talk  about.  Please, 
just—" 

She  slipped  out  of  his  embrace  gently,  running  her 
hands  down  his  arms  till  she  gripped  his  fingers,  which 
she  held  in  soft  imprisonment,  smiling  wonderfully  up 
at  him,  and  pleading,  too. 


92  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"Tell  me  why  you  can't  go  with  me!  You  don't 
seem  to  be  in  this  at  all." 

Clavering's  glance  became  troubled.  Quite  evident 
ly  she  puzzled  him. 

He  stood  very  still  and  stiff,  gazing  steadily  down 
at  her. 

"Then — you  don't  altogether — hate  me?" 

Miss  Severoid  laughed  oddly — swayed  toward  him 
suddenly  on  tiptoe,  kissed  him,  and  slipped  away  again 
in  a  second,  releasing  his  hands. 

"There!" 

She  stood  otf  at  a  safe  distance,  her  eyes  dancing  in 
roguish  glee. 

"Now  don't  let's  be  foolish  any  more — just  now. 
One  would  think  neither  of  us  had  reached  years  of 
discretion.  Tell  me — what  part  are  you  going  to  play  ? 
I  need  you,  and  I  know  you  can  help  me  more  than 
any  one,  and — and  I  want  you  to  come  with  me." 

"Why?"     It  was  very  deliberate. 

"Oh — just — just  because." 

She  saw  his  hands  clench  stiffly,  and  the  line  his 
mouth  made  frightened  her  a  little. 

"I  am  sorry,  but  I  can't  travel  with  you." 

"Oh— why?" 

"Just — because."  A  sardonic  smile  broke  upon  his 
lips.  "But  I  shall  always  be  near.  Don't  forget  that. 
Cralla  will  know  where  to  find  me  at  any  time  in  the 
night  or  day,  and  I'll  be  at  your  side  in  an  hour  should 
you  need  me." 

Miss  Severoid  was  doubtful  again.  A  screeching 
siren  on  the  river  made  her  jump. 

"You  are  so  mysterious,"  she  complained  finally,  and 
pouted  deliciously.  "And  everything  seems  to  be  en 
trusted  to  that  beast  Cralla.  He  knows  everything, 
and  you  won't  tell  me  anything.  How  do  you  know  he 
won't  turn  traitor  some  day  ?" 


INSTRUCTIONS 


93 


Clavering  met  her  glance  of  childish  inquiry  very 
steadily. 

"Cralla  won't  turn  traitor,"  he  said  evenly.  "There 
is  no  fear  of  that.  And  you  must  trust  me  to  arrange 
to  help  you  in  my  own  way.  Surely  McClure  is 
enough  protection  against  any  of  Cralla's  tricks. 

"But" — with  a  deprecatory  gesture — "that's  settled. 
Persuade  McClure  to  go  with  you  and  make  your  ar 
rangements  with  Cralla.  And  the  quicker  you  start 
the  better  chance  you  will  have  of  arriving — in  time." 

Miss  Severoid's  shudder  was  perceptible.  For  a 
little  while  Clavering  regarded  her  with  uncomfortable 
directness. 

All  at  once  his  chin  rose  sharply. 

"Here  comes  the  worthy  missionary,"  he  announced 
in  a  whisper.  "He'll  probably  want  to  talk  to  you,  so 
I'd  better  be  off.  Come." 

He  stretched  forth  his  arms. 

Miss  Severoid  did  not  move.  She  listened,  and 
very  faintly  heard  the  sound  of  voices  coming  nearer. 

Then  she  appeared  suddenly  to  notice  Clavering's 
waiting  arms.  Lightly  drawing  away,  she  smiled  and 
shook  her  head. 

"No.  No  more.  Please  go!  I'm  afraid  they'll 
catch  you." 

Clavering's  arms  descended  slowly,  and  the  look  he 
gave  her  seemed  to  penetrate  to  the  back  of  her  mind. 

"Perhaps  it  is  just  as  well.  You'll  need  a  few — to 
persuade  McClure.  He's  a  solid  human.  Good 
night." 

He  slipped  past  her  like  a  shadow  and  was  gone, 
leaving  her  to  swallow  his  parting  thrust  as  best  she 
could. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Steel  seemed  to  be  very  near.  She 
heard  them  talking  to  a  watch-boy — heard  his  repeat 
ed  "Yessah — Yes'm — Yessah!"  Standing  directly 


94  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

under  the  hanging  lamp  at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  she 
waited  for  them  to  come  up. 

There  was  no  sign  nor  sound  of  Clavering. 

Crouching  in  the  shadows  of  the  water-tank,  Mc- 
Clure  saw  Miss  Severoid  quite  plainly — her  smile  of 
welcome  to  the  missionary  and  his  wife  and  the  cor 
uscating  lights  in  her  hair.  The  muscles  of  his  jaws 
stood  out. 

Then  the  watch-boy  who  had  run  to  meet  the  mis 
sionary  was  ambling  away  toward  the  water-front, 
and  a  low,  peculiar  whistle  came  out  of  the  blackness 
beyond  the  stairway. 

Almost  instantly  a  dark  shape  appeared  on  the  ve 
randa-rail  above — came  softly  over,  hung  for  a  second, 
a  splendid  target — then  dropped  noiselessly  upon  the 
water-tank. 

McClure,  almost  under  the  outlaw's  feet,  made  no 
move  to  shoot;  did  not  even  reach  for  his  revolver, 
which  was  in  its  holster.  He  waited  till  Clavering 
jumped  lightly  to  the  ground. 

Then  in  an  instant — swift,  silent,  and  terrible — he 
rose,  wound  his  left  arm  around  the  unsuspecting  out 
law's  neck,  and  with  his  right  snatched  at  and  secured 
his  prisoner's  revolver. 

There  was  a  harsh,  unlovely  oath,  smothered  at  birth 
as  McClure's  forearm  pressed  violently  across  Claver- 
ing's  throat,  and  the  hard  rim  of  his  own  revolver  dig 
ging  into  his  spine  produced  perfect  peace. 

"Quiet!"  McClure  growled,  shifting  his  grip  to 
Clavering's  collar.  "And  don't  attempt  to  be  clever, 
or  I  shall  be  fatally  unpleasant.  We  are  going  away 
from  here  without  any  fuss.  March  1" 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE    FIGHT 

CLAVERING  drew  a  long,  deep  breath — like  a  sigh. 

He  did  not  have  to  see  McClure's  face  to  know  who 
his  captor  was.  The  sound  of  his  voice  had  been 
enough,  and  Clavering  had  always  had  a  sneaking  re 
spect  for  the  big  trader's  prowess  in  several  directions. 

Under  the  circumstances  that  respect  increased  ten 
fold. 

McClure  could  not  be  flustered  or  tricked.  He 
could  shoot,  too — fast  and  straight.  What  was  most 
important — he  undoubtedly  would! 

Clavering  knew  that,  and,  having  no  wish  to  die 
indecently  under  Miss  Severoid's  windows — or  any 
where  else,  for  that  matter — he  silently  obeyed  the  in 
sistent  command  voiced  by  McClure's  revolver. 

They  passed  under  Miss  Severoid's  windows,  the 
murmur  of  voices  coming  from  the  missionary's  quar 
ters,  and  halted  near  the  door  of  the  deserted  kitchen 
until  one  of  the  back-beach  watch-boys  had  vanished 
under  the  awning  of  the  mission  hall. 

Then  they  went  forward  again,  crossing  the  space 
between  the  silent  native  quarters  and  the  hall,  and 
tried  to  slip  into  the  palm-grove  leading  to  Marsden's 
beach  without  being  observed. 

At  least  that  was  McClure's  intention.  Clavering 
had  no  choice. 

But  the  watch-boy,  not  visible  at  first,  called  sud 
denly  from  under  the  awning : 

95 


96  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"Whodat?" 

"McClure,"  that  gentleman  returned  in  sonorous 
irritation,  screening  Clavering  as  best  he  could  from 
the  boy's  peering  inspection.  "Be  all  right." 

"All  ri',  sah !" 

They  went  on  into  the  grove  of  palms,  too  full  of 
shadows  to  allow  any  one  who  wished  to  pass  in  a 
hurry  to  be  easily  recognized. 

And  the  lissome  figure  of  a  woman  followed  them, 
slipping  past  the  watch-boy  like  a  black  wraith  while 
his  back  was  turned,  and,  coming  to  a  halt  when  his 
light  came  round  again,  hugged  a  palm  so  closely  as 
to  seem  a  part  of  it. 

There  was  a  heavy,  unlit  hurricane  lantern  in  her 
hand. 

"What's  your  program,  Mac  ?"  Clavering  asked  with 
cool  and  easy  familiarity  when  they  were  out  of  the 
watch-boy's  hearing.  "This  is  all  very  mysterious. 
Why  don't  you  shoot  and  make  some  one  we  both  know 
desperately  unhappy  ?" 

McClure's  teeth  snapped  audibly. 

"Shooting's  too  good  for  you,"  he  growled.  "It's 
too  quick.  My  mango-tree  would  be  better." 

"But  that  wouldn't  be  a  pleasant  sight  for  a  lady. 
She'd  see  me  hanging  there,  you  know.  Perhaps  you 
are  medieval  enough  to  want  her  to?" 

Again  that  dull,  dangerous  glow  came  into  Mc 
Clure's  eyes.  For  a  few  moments  he  was  very  near  to 
what  his  conscience  would  have  called  murder.  In 
fact,  his  finger  trembled  so  uncertainly  upon  the  trig 
ger  that  he  drew  it  away  in  fear  of  what  it  might  do. 

"I'm  giving  you  a  chance,"  he  said  thickly,  "to  die 
like  a  man  on  my  beach  instead  of — where  I  found  you. 
Don't  irritate  me  any  more  than  you  can  help." 

Clavering  chuckled,  quite  as  though  he  enjoyed  the 
prospect. 


THE  FIGHT  97 

"So  that's  your  idea?  Protecting  the  lady's  fair 
name  and  so  forth.  Splendid !  But  what's  your  plan 
when  we  get  across  the  creek?" 

"You'll  see,"  McClure  answered  grimly,  and  thrust 
his  captive  ahead  of  him  over  the  little  bridge. 

Suddenly  he  stopped. 

The  flutter  of  loose  cloth  about  swift-moving,  naked 
ankles  came  from  behind.  The  sound  was  unmis 
takable. 

In  an  instant  he  swung  Clavering  around  and  looked 
back  into  the  inky  blackness  of  the  avenue  of  palms. 

But  as  far  as  he  could  see  there  was  no  one  there. 
With  a  grunt  of  annoyance  he  went  on  again. 

Almost  immediately  Ilora  came  out  of  hiding  be 
hind  a  tree,  divesting  herself  of  the  long,  telltale  over- 
cloth,  which  she  swiftly  folded  about  her  like  a  belt. 
Then,  more  like  a  shadow  than  ever  and  as  silent,  grip 
ping  the  hurricane  lantern  tightly,  she  reached  the 
bridge  and  stopped. 

McClure  and  Clavering  had  crossed  it.  A  watch- 
boy,  standing  on  Marsden's  oil-wharf,  was  waiting  to 
challenge  them. 

"Be  all  right,  Dubla,"  McClure  called  before  the  boy 
came  near  enough  to  see  clearly.  "We  no  need  lamp." 

"Allri',  sah!" 

The  boy  shuffled  off  the  wharf  and  ambled  down  to 
the  breakwater. 

McClure  and  his  prisoner  went  on ;  past  the  oil-yard 
gate  and  the  entrance  to  the  warehouse;  softly  under 
the  white  assistants'  windows  and  along  the  gravel 
path  leading  to  the  consulate — so  far  along  that  Claver 
ing,  tight-lipped  now,  and  beginning  to  feel  the  indig 
nity  of  his  situation  more  than  its  danger,  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  McClure  intended  turning  him  over  to 
the  district  commissioner. 

Then,  suddenly  swerving  from  that  course,  McClure 


98  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

pushed  him  down  a  little  beaten  path  that  led  across  a 
large  open  space  which  faced  the  river,  and  which  was 
facetiously  called  "the  lawn"  because  it  boasted  an 
anemic  sort  of  grass. 

In  the  center  of  that  space  the  dark  outline  of  the 
powder-store  loomed  up.  On  the  side  farthest  away 
from  all  other  habitation  McClure  halted. 

The  place  was  unusually  desolate  and  dark  and  ad 
mitted  of  uninterrupted  quiet.  Even  the  watch-boys 
rarely  patrolled  so  far  away  from  the  oil-yard  and  the 
house,  which  were  their  principal  cares. 

Clavering  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it,  and 
frankly  said  so. 

Turning  him  about,  McClure  dug  the  revolver  into 
the  center  of  his  anatomy  and  declared  very  distinctly : 

"Well — I'll  tell  you.  I  might  have  shot  you  like  a 
dog  any  time  within  the  past  ten  minutes  and  been 
thanked  for  doing  it.  I  might  have  turned  you  over 
to  the  D.  C.  and  watched  you  hang  in  the  morning,  or 
I  might  have  thrown  you  to  my  Kroo-boys.  And  you 
know  what  they'd  do." 

Clavering  knew  well  enough.  Many  Kroo  watch- 
boys  had  suffered  at  his  hands,  and  a  Kroo-boy,  given 
carte  blanche  to  wreak  his  revenge,  is  very  much  like  a 
terrier.  He  pulls  his  victim  apart. 

"Very  considerate,  I'm  sure,"  Clavering  murmured 
lazily;  but  his  usual  deprecatory  smile  was  wanting, 
and  he  appeared  to  be  sizing  up  his  captor  to  arrive  at 
the  difference — if  any — in  their  physical  attain 
ments.  "But,  since  you  haven't  done  any  of  those 
things,  what  are  you  going  to  do?  Tie  me  to  a  few 
kegs  of  powder  and  light  a  slow  fuse  ?" 

McClure  peered  into  his  face. 

"I  am  going  to  make  you — fight !"  he  said  slowly  and 
tensely.  "No  guns — nothing  but  our  bare  hands — and 
when  I've  got  all  the  satisfaction  I  want  I'll  let  the 


THE  FIGHT  99 

D.  C.  do  the  rest.  But  maybe  I'll  break  your  neck.  I 
don't  know  yet.  What  do  you  say?" 

Clavering  winced,  and  his  arms  stiffened  by  his  sides. 
McClure's  confidence  in  himself  was,  to  say  the  least, 
disconcerting. 

"You  are  running  this  entertainment.  When  does 
it  begin?" 

For  answer  McClure  drew  his  own  revolver  and 
tossed  it  from  him  in  the  direction  of  the  powder- 
house.  Then,  still  retaining  Clavering's  weapon,  he 
rapidly  searched  him.  Finding  a  serviceable  clasp- 
knife,  he  threw  it  after  the  revolver. 

"Now!" 

In  a  moment  McClure  had  cast  Clavering's  weapon 
aside — toward  the  river — and  had  wound  an  apelike 
arm  about  the  outlaw's  waist,  throwing  the  other  arm 
across  his  throat. 

Slippery  as  an  eel,  all  bone  and  sinew,  with  muscles 
like  steel  wires,  Clavering  tried  to  wriggle  free,  con 
fident  that  he  could  easily  do  so,  and  mentally  chuckling 
at  McClure's  conceit  and  folly. 

But  the  chuckle  died  away  into  a  quiet  amazement. 

He  strained  and  tugged  and  leaped  into  the  trader; 
twisted  his  right  leg  about  McClure's  left  and  attempt 
ed  to  affect  his  balance  that  way. 

And  McClure,  rigid  as  a  rock,  laughed  at  him. 

"Try  some  other  trick,  you  whelp!  There's  your 
chance." 

The  trader's  imprisoned  leg  freed  itself  in  a  moment, 
and  in  turn  was  twisted  with  startling  swiftness  about 
Clavering's.  A  lurching  heave  of  his  massive  shoul 
ders — a  sudden  jerking  free  of  the  apelike  arm,  and 
Clavering  toppled  backward,  clawed  the  air,  and  struck 
mother  earth  with  a  jarring  shock. 

McClure  stood  over  him — grinning.  It  was  not  a 
pleasant  grin.  He  was  breathing  easily. 


ioo  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"Get  up,  man!     I'm  not  half  through  with  you." 

Clavering's  color  was  gray-white,  and  his  cruel 
mouth  a  wisp-like  line  that  twisted  in  a  terrible  fury. 

But  even  then,  creeping  warily  to  his  feet,  he  knew 
that,  big  and  broad  and  powerful  as  he  was,  he  was  not 
the  equal  of  his  bigger  and  broader  and  more  powerful 
antagonist  at  close  quarters.  The  suddenness  and  ease 
with  which  he  had  been  thrown,  even  though  it  might 
not  happen  so  suddenly  and  easily  a  second  time,  had 
told  him  that  his  opponent  demanded  a  cautious  respect. 

As  he  rose  again  it  was  with  the  intention  of  avoid 
ing  the  embrace  of  McClure's  arms. 

The  trader  stepped  back  a  pace  accommodatingly, 
with  a  sneer  in  his  very  movement. 

"You're  a  poor  wrestler,  Clavering,"  he  taunted.  "I 
could  break  your  neck  very  easily.  Come  a  wee  bit 
nearer,  man,  and  I'll — " 

A  whiplike  right  halted  the  banter. 

McClure  stopped  it  with  his  shoulder,  and  his  elbow 
got  in  the  way  of  a  curving  left  that  followed. 

He  grunted  contentedly,  lowered  his  head  a  little, 
and  a  vicious  smash  plunged  through  Clavering's  guard 
and  opened  a  nasty  cut  over  his  left  eye. 

Then  the  fight  was  on  in  earnest ;  a  battle  of  giants, 
a  grisly,  spectral  business  in  a  darkness  that  was  like 
a  shroud.  The  deep  breaths  they  drew,  the  dull,  sick 
ening  impact  of  their  heavy  fists,  and  the  scuffling 
movement  of  their  feet  were  the  only  sounds  they 
made. 

A  distant  watch-boy  patrolled  his  beat  in  sublime 
ignorance  of  the  conflict,  and  a  small  launch,  not  very 
far  from  the  river-bank,  sputtered  fussily  past  on  its 
way  to  the  consulate. 

McClure,  the  bigger  and  stronger,  was  breathing 
just  a  little  deeper;  but  the  dull  glow  in  his  eyes  had 
grown  brighter. 


THE  FIGHT  101 

His  mind  was  whispering  exultantly  that  whenever 
he  chose  he  could  close  in  upon  Clavering — and  pos 
sibly  break  his  neck,  after  all. 

He  felt  sure  he  could  do  it.  There  was  a  queer  and 
somewhat  hideous  satisfaction  in  the  thought  that  he 
could  please  himself  in  the  matter. 

Clavering,  much  faster  and  untiring,  agile  as  a  cat, 
with  arms  that  shot  out  like  the  tongue  of  a  snake,  cir 
cled  warily,  yet  fought  as  never  before. 

He  had  to ;  and  freedom  was  not  the  thought  upper 
most  in  his  mind. 

That  McClure  had  had  him  at  his  mercy — that  he 
had  brought  him  there,  out  of  reach  and  sight  of  every 
one,  and  had  thrown  away  all  means  of  defense — that 
he  had  threatened  to  "break  his  neck,"  and  seemed 
likely  to  be  able  to  do  it,  were  truths  and  possibilities 
that  cut  into  the  quick  of  Clavering's  pride. 

And  as  the  warm  trickle  from  the  cut  over  his  eye 
threatened  to  impair  his  sight,  his  command  over  his 
passions  drifted  away.  The  man  beneath  showed 
through ;  a  snakelike  man,  savage,  tricky,  with  a  hell- 
born  hate  burning  fiercely  in  his  eyes. 

Faster  and  faster  he  fought.  Presently  there  was 
an  ugly  gash  over  McClure's  cheek-bone  and  a  swelling 
on  his  forehead  that  would  possibly  be  bluish-green  in 
the  morning.  McClure  was  bleeding  copiously  from 
nose  and  mouth.  Even  when  he  got  home  again  to 
Clavering's  already  troubled  eye  the  outlaw's  speed  and 
fury  seemed  only  to  increase. 

Darting  in  and  out,  pounding  McClure's  body  as 
though  it  were  a  drum,  gliding  out  of  reach  of  his 
smashing  rights,  and  ducking  under  hooks  that  might 
have  jarred  his  head  from  his  shoulders — and  always 
evading  every  effort  the  trader  made  to  close  in  upon 
him,  Clavering  finally  drove  a  straight  left — flush  upon 
McClure's  mouth. 


102  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

He  snorted  in  his  pain  like  a  wounded  bull — a  terri 
fying  sound;  hunched  his  shoulders  a  little  higher, 
feinted,  took  a  slanting  blow  on  the  side  of  the  head 
purposely,  and  lunging  forward  with  all  his  weight 
behind  the  blow,  took  Clavering  full  between  the  eyes, 
hurling  him  back  upon  his  heels. 

For  just  such  a  chance  had  he  been  waiting. 

Instantly,  before  the  outlaw  could  recover  his  bal 
ance,  McClure  leaped  at  him  and  drew  him  into  a  bear- 
like  embrace  that  promised  to  crack  his  ribs. 

The  earth  slipped  away  from  under  Clavering's  feet. 
He  struggled  furiously,  but  felt  himself  being  lifted 
slowly  up — higher  and  higher — as  though  his  twisting, 
writhing  weight  were  of  no  consequence. 

Then,  just  as  he  managed  to  free  one  arm  and  make 
a  frantic  grab  for  McClure's  bull  throat,  he  was  sud 
denly  twisted  over  with  a  painful  wrench  and  the 
trader's  solid  right  knee  pressed  into  the  small  of  his 
back. 

He  was  helpless  as  a  child,  not  because  he  could  not 
move,  but  because  he  was  afraid  to.  One  arm  was 
pinioned  and  the  other  practically  useless,  because  Mc 
Clure's  hard  right  forearm  was  under  his  chin,  for 
his  head  back,  and  still  back — with  horrible  and  delib 
erate  slowness — 

The  fear  of  death  was  on  Clavering's  face. 

"Will  I  do  it?"  McClure  taunted,  his  voice  thick  and 
hoarse  with  a  passion  that  was  not  far  from  insanity. 
"Will  I,  or  will  you  hang?  Man,  but  you're  a  sore 
disappointment.  I  thought  you  were  a  fighter!" 

Clavering's  head  went  back  just  a  little  farther. 

There  was  blood  upon  his  lips  and  an  icy  perspira 
tion  on  his  forehead.  His  eyes  were  glassy. 

McClure  peered  down  at  him  and  laughed. 

"Huh!  That  frightens  you,  does  it?  I  thought  it 
would.  That's  why  I'm  doing  it." 


THE  FIGHT  103 

He  moved  Clavering's  hapless  head  about — an  inch 
or  two — so  that  his  face  was  turned  toward  the  river. 

"Take  a  look  at  it.  It's  maybe  your  last.  That's 
Fletcher's  launch  you  see,  saving  Carmichael  the  trou 
ble  of  walking,  and  that's  the  Vampire's  siren  you  hear 
coming  round  the  Saganna  bend  with  some  more  of 
Rama's  whelps. 

"All  that  fuss  over  you,  too!  You,  who  are  lying 
so  quiet  across  my  knee,  without  a  thing  to  say  for 
yourself  or  all  the  devilment  you've — " 

Something  black  and  fearsome  rose  out  of  the  earth 
behind  him. 

A  slight  squeaking  sound  was  all  he  heard,  and  then 
a  heavy,  round  thing  crashed  down  upon  his  head. 

"Och!" 

The  Scotch  in  McClure  was  responsible  for  that. 
He  lurched  sidewise,  and  Clavering  slipped  from  his 
hands  to  the  ground. 

Before  the  trader  could  turn  the  thing  struck  again 
and  again.  Accompanying  the  blows  was  a  vicious 
hissing  that  ended  in  a  satisfied  "Ah-h-h-h-h !"  as  he 
sagged  down  in  a  motionless  heap. 

Ilora,  heavy  hurricane  lantern  in  hand,  stood  over 
him,  waiting  to  see  him  move. 

Water  dripped  from  her  scanty  clothing  as  a  result 
of  swimming  the  creek.  Having  crawled  like  a  snake 
through  the  grass  for  about  fifty  yards,  she  was  very 
dirty  and  savage-looking  indeed. 

McClure  did  not  move. 

The  girl  glanced  quickly  toward  Clavering,  as  though 
she  wondered  why  he  did  not  immediately  rise. 

But  Clavering  could  not. 

He  had — fainted ! 


CHAPTER  XIII 

NO   ANSWER 

CLAVERING  was  not  a  coward ;  neither  had  he  a  weak 
stomach.  Battle  and  bullets  held  no  terrors  for  him. 
He  had  played  with  death  so  long  and  had  faced  it  in 
so  many  guises  that  the  pastime  had  become  almost 
monotonous. 

But  he  had  never  lain  across  another  man's  knee, 
feeling  his  vertebrae  snapping  like  a  rotten  stick. 

That  was  both  an  undignified  and  a  terrible  way  to 
die. 

Ilora  bent  over  him  and  shook  him,  muttering  harsh 
ly  in  Jackrie  the  while.  There  was  a  new  look  of 
disappointment  upon  her  face. 

For  a  few  minutes,  lying  flat  and  close  to  the  ground, 
she  had  watched  the  fight.  Though  she  did  not  pre 
sume  to  understand  McClure's  queer  methods — con 
sidering  that  he  might  have  shot  his  captive  out  of 
hand — she  did  realize  that  he  had  fought  Clavering 
upon  equal  terms  and — had  beaten  him! 

Which,  to  her,  was  as  astounding  as  though  the 
Niger  had  run  dry. 

It  took  a  little  time  for  the  amazing  truth  to  be  even 
faintly  appreciated.  When  Clavering  stirred  and  stag 
gered  to  his  feet  she  shuffled  away  a  few  steps,  sullen 
and  silent,  allowing  him  to  get  an  understanding  of 
things  by  himself. 

And  presently,  though  unpleasantly  conscious  of  a 
sickening  sensation  that  his  head  would  wabble  from 

104 


NO  ANSWER  105 

his  shoulders  at  any  moment,  he  became  acquainted 
with  the  whole  situation. 

Grunting  a  string  of  Jackrie  gutturals  and  a  few 
thick  words  in  English  at  the  silent  Ilora  in  commenda 
tion  for  her  timely  assistance,  he  stood  over  the  un- 
moving  McClure  and  tried  to  smile. 

But  the  effort  was  not  a  success.  It  was  rather 
sheepish — as  though  he  appreciated  thoroughly  the  fact 
that  it  was  no  fault  of  his  that  their  positions  were  not 
reversed. 

McClure  was  lying  on  his  face.  Clavering  stooped, 
and  rolling  him  over  on  his  back,  felt  for  and  found  the 
faint  beating  of  his  heart. 

He  straightened.  His  smile  had  faded  and  his 
mouth  was  twisting  queerly  as  he  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders  significantly  in  the  face  of  the  fate  that,  once 
more,  had  been  kind  to  him. 

Then,  turning  sharply  upon  Ilora,  he  told  her  to  look 
for  his  revolver,  and  indicated  the  general  direction  in 
which  McClure  had  thrown  it. 

But  the  girl's  obedience  was  not  so  swift  nor  so 
willing  as  usual.  She  shuffled  toward  the  water's  edge, 
muttering. 

Clavering  paid  no  attention  to  her  surliness;  it  did 
not  interest  him  enough.  He  looked  about  him — at 
the  distant  watch-boy's  light  moving  lazily  past  a 
clump  of  cactus  near  the  boat  wharf ;  at  the  river  to  see 
the  transport  department's  launch  Vampire  steaming 
into  the  consulate  wharf  with  "some  more  of  Rama's 
whelps." 

Then  he  glanced  behind  him  through  the  gloom  to 
ward  the  gravel  path,  and  along  it  in  the  direction  of 
the  house  and  the  breakwater,  under  the  shadow  of 
which  his  canoe  was  moored. 

A  single  light  still  burned  in  the  white  assistant's 
living  quarters.  That  was  in  Davie  Tait's  room,  and 


106  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

the  young  man  was  perspiring  freely  over  the  expense 
account  for  the  month,  preparing  it  for  the  homeward 
mail  the  following  day. 

There  was  no  one  in  sight  save  the  watch-boys,  and 
watch-boys  had  never  disturbed  Clavering  very  much. 

With  an  eye  upon  McClure,  he  turned  and  spent  a 
leisurely  few  minutes  searching  for  the  trader's  re 
volver,  but  gave  it  up  when  Ilora,  without  comment  of 
any  sort,  brought  him  his  own. 

McClure  stirred  and  moaned. 

Clavering  thrust  the  revolver  into  its  holster,  went 
to  the  trader's  side,  and  peered  down  at  him.  Ilora 
followed. 

"He  go  die?"  she  asked  sullenly. 

"Not  yet.     Someday.     Wall!" 

A  faint,  malicious  sneer  played  upon  his  lips,  and 
gripping  Ilora's  arm,  he  pulled  her  away. 

She  followed  sulkily,  still  carrying  the  mission 
watch-boy's  lamp. 

But  once  she  looked  back.  There  was  an  undecided, 
savage  sort  of  pity  in  her  eyes. 

Some  time  later,  having  no  opinions  of  any  kind 
upon  anything  save  that  his  head  was  unusually  heavy 
and  painful,  and  that  he  would  be  all  right  if  he  did 
not  have  to  walk,  McClure  staggered  past  one  of  his 
own  astonished  watch-boys  and,  somehow  or  other, 
crawled  up  endless  stairs  and  lurched  heavily  along  the 
veranda  to  his  rooms. 

Clavering  was  on  his  way  to  Akerri  by  that  time,  and 
Ilora  was  lying  upon  her  mat  in  the  mud-hut  behind  the 
mission,  wide  awake  and — thinking. 

Later  still,  McClure's  "chief  steward"  found  him 
huddled  in  his  chair  in  his  office,  his  face  showing  de 
cided  signs  of  conflict,  his  shirt  spattered  with  blood 


NO  ANSWER  107 

about  the  shoulders — a  nasty  mess.  Immediately  he 
called  Davie  Tait,  and  together  they  roused  McClure 
from  his  semi-conscious  state ;  at  the  same  time  sending 
for  the  doctor  at  the  consulate. 

McClure  did  not  know  that  until  afterward,  when  he 
said  things  to  his  junior  assistant  that  would  not  look 
well  in  print.  But  the  doctor  declared  that  it  was  a 
nasty  fracture,  and  asked  his  patient  how  the  devil  he 
had  come  by  it  and  the  marks  upon  his  face. 

Which  was  a  question  McClure  did  not  wish  any  one 
to  put  to  him. 

He  said  he  didn't  know  much  about  it.  His  state 
ment  was : 

"I  took  a  walk  down  by  the  powder-house  and  some 
one  came  up  from  behind  and  clumped  me  over  the 
head.  They  must  have  banged  me  about  the  face  when 
I  was  out,  because  I  don't  remember  anything  about 
that  part  of  the  performance.  Wonder  if  my  powder- 
store  has  been  looted  ?" 

Then,  when  everybody  had  gone,  he  sent  for  Agigi, 
who  had  returned  from  Perkins  &  Gray's  post-haste. 

The  boy  came  in,  a  little  sleepy,  but  as  cherubic  as 
ever,  and  studied  McClure's  bandages  without  emotion. 

"You  'member  what  you  told  me  about — bad  white 
man?" 

"Yessah." 

"You  tell  'nother  man?" 

"No,  sah." 

"Then  don't,  or  I'll  cook  you  all  same  chicken,  or 
make  monkey  fuju  man  bring  back  your  tail! 
Savvy?" 

Agigi  winced.  He  did  not  like  to  be  reminded  of 
the  possibility  that  he  had,  once  upon  a  time,  worn  a 
tail. 

"Yessah.     I  no  tell  no  man,  sah." 


io8  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"All  right.  Morning  time  come,  you  go  for  far  side 
of  powder-store  and  find  two  small  gun  and  one  small 
knife.  Hide  them  in  your  cloth  and  bring  them  to  me. 
Savvy?" 

"Yessah." 

"All  right.  You  savvy  Dubla,  the  watch-boy  for 
bridge  side?" 

"Yessah." 

"Then  ask  him  sof'ly — sof'ly  which  man  come  with 
me  from  mission  beach." 

"Yessah." 

Agigi  departed,  and  very  shortly  afterward  returned 
with  the  information  that  Dubla,  the  watch-boy, 
thought  McClure's  companion  had  been  a  "gov'ment 
man." 

McClure  smiled  dryly. 

"All  right.  That's  all.  Don't  forget  two  small  gun 
and  one  small  knife  on  far  side  of  powder-house.  May 
be  just  one  gun.  Bring  what  you  find.  Good  night." 

"  'Night,  sah." 

The  boy  went  out  very  quietly.  In  the  silence  that 
followed,  McClure  could  almost  hear  his  head  throb. 
It  was  a  sweltering  night,  too,  and  sleep  would  not 
come  to  his  eyes. 

His  thoughts  were  not  pleasant  companions. 

For  a  long  time  he  lay  in  the  smothering  heat,  won 
dering  who  had  so  miraculously  come  to  Clavering's 
assistance.  Then,  realizing  the  futility  of  guesswork, 
he  dismissed  the  matter  and  allowed  his  mind  to  travel 
across  the  creek  again. 

Which  made  him  writhe  and  chew  his  mustache 
viciously,  and  toss  restlessly  about  till  he  finally  rose 
and  sought  the  veranda. 

It  was  a  little  cooler  there,  but  not  very  much,  and 
his  throat  was  ready  to  crack.  "Four  bells"  struck 
and  told  him  it  was  2  A.  M.  He  could  see  dim  shapes 


NO  ANSWER  109 

of  produce-laden  canoes  gathering  near  the  breakwater 
to  be  ready  for  business  with  the  rising  of  the  sun. 

Across  the  creek  was  darkness.     She  was  asleep. 

McClure  leaned  against  a  veranda  upright  for  a 
while,  trying  to  forget  the  throb-throbbing  of  his  head 
and  to  shake  off  the  dull,  numbing  heaviness  that  was 
creeping  over  him. 

Then,  very  deliberately,  he  entered  his  office.  Be 
cause  his  eyes  were  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  he 
readily  found  his  keys. 

Going  directly  to  the  drawer  of  his  library-table,  he 
opened  it  and  produced  the  photograph  of  a  shepherd 
ess. 

He  tore  it  into  many  pieces  and  threw  the  fragments 
into  his  waste-paper  basket. 

After  that  he  went  to  bed  again — and  lay  in  a 
Hades  of  his  own  till  the  sun  came. 

Then,  because  nature  took  a  hand  upon  her  own 
account,  he  slept. 

Miss  Severoid,  looking  anxiously,  missed  him  from 
his  accustomed  chair  that  day. 

The  previous  evening,  shortly  after  the  missionary 
and  his  wife  returned,  she  had  gone  down  to  Perkins 
&  Gray's,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Steel,  and  had  soothed 
the  delirious  Fletcher  to  sleep  so  effectively  that  the 
missionary  had  marveled  at  it  and  came  very  near  to 
the  sin  of  envy. 

Expecting  to  find  McClure  at  Perkins  &  Gray's,  and 
being  told  by  one  of  Fletcher's  assistants  that  "Mr.  Mc 
Clure  said  he  was  going  to  call  for  you,"  she  was  nat 
urally  curious  and  a  little  anxious  to  know  why  he  had 
not  done  so. 

Finding  him  absent  from  his  usual  corner  on  the 
morning  after,  her  curiosity  increased. 

Then  at  luncheon  the  missionary  said  newsily: 


no  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"The  doctor  was  telling  me  this  morning  that  Mr. 
McClure  was  the  victim  of  a  queer  assault  last  night. 
Some  one  clubbed  him  on  the  head  when  he  was  down 
near  his  powder  store,  and  the  doctor  said  the  fracture 
was  a  nasty  one.  Some  of  Rama's  rovers,  I  fancy, 
though  nothing  seems  to  have  been  stolen." 

Miss  Severoid  said  "Really !"  in  a  blank  sort  of  way, 
and  for  the  remainder  of  the  meal  was  rather  quiet  and 
taciturn. 

A  little  later,  in  spite  of  the  sizzling  noonday  heat 
that  drove  men  under  cover  to  lie  groaning  and  sweat 
ing  through  two  or  three  hours  of  unhappy  idleness; 
in  spite  of  a  premonition  that  she  was  very  foolish  and 
was  probably  making  a  mountain  out  of  a  molehill,  she 
sat  at  her  little  writing-table  and  struggled  with  a  note 
that  would  not  write.  At  least,  not  the  way  she  want 
ed  it  to. 

She  was  very  anxious — impatient,  in  fact — to  know 
just  how  badly  McClure  had  been  hurt ;  whether,  like 
"poor  Mr.  Fletcher,"  he  would  have  to  be  invalided 
home — a  circumstance  that  would  interfere  with  her 
plans  considerably.  And  she  wanted  to  call  upon  him 
in  the  cool  of  the  afternoon  to  say  how  sorry  she  was, 
and  to  gather,  if  she  could,  the  full  and  complete  ac 
count  of  the  "assault." 

But  for  some  inexplicable  reason  she  found  it  very 
difficult  to  express  her  sympathy  without  being  more 
formal  than  she  wished  to  be,  or  more  sisterly  than  she 
cared  to  be — in  a  letter. 

Talking  to  McClure,  with  only  him  to  hear,  was  one 
thing;  putting  words  down  in  black  and  white  was 
quite  another.  It  surprised  her  to  find  herself  being 
impelled  to  use  expressions  of  a  decidedly  softening 
character  that  were  not  compatible  with  so  short  an 
acquaintance. 

However,  she  finally  managed  this : 


NO  ANSWER  in 

DEAR  MR.  McCmRE: 

I  have  just  heard  of  your  misfortune.  If  I  may,  I  shall  call 
after  four  to  see  that  you  are  being  properly  treated.  I  hope  it 
isn't  as  serious  as  I  am  led  to  believe. 

Gratefully  and  sincerely  yours, 

ELIZABETH  SEVEROID. 

Placing  it  in  an  envelope,  which  she  sealed  and  ad 
dressed  simply  to  "Mr.  McClure,"  she  rose  from  the 
table  and,  as  was  her  custom,  sought  a  canvas  deck- 
chair  which  she  preferred  to  any  other.  In  it  she 
lolled  through  what  was  left  of  the  lazy  hours  of  the 
day,  dreamily  gazing  out  upon  the  sun-scorched  world, 
watching  the  misty,  fever-laden  haze  rise  from  the 
swamps  across  the  river. 

It  was  too  warm  to  expend  even  the  exertion  of 
using  a  fan. 

The  decks  of  a  "gin-tank"  in  mid-stream  were  de 
serted,  save  for  a  black  Liberian  boatswain  and  one  or 
two  of  his  boys,  who  dozed  in  the  shadows  of  a  deck 
house. 

A  solitary  canoe  crawled  past  on  its  way  to  an  up- 
river  market.  The  stark,  motionless  forms  of  natives 
sleeping  under  the  awning  of  Marsden's  kernel  house 
reminded  Miss  Severoid  unpleasantly  of  death. 

Down  near  the  water-front  the  golden  yellow  clay 
baked  and  cracked  in  Heaven  knew  how  many  degrees 
Fahrenheit.  A  smothering,  gasping  silence  hung  over 
all  the  earth. 

There  were  two  hours  of  that.  Then  the  ringing  of 
bells  upon  every  beach,  save  those  of  the  mission  and 
the  consulate,  called  the  enforced  idlers  from  their  rest 
less,  unhealthy  slumbers,  back  to  material  things  again. 

The  white  assistants  at  the  trading  stations,  pale 
and  sunken-eyed,  some  of  them  gray  like  a  washed-out 
rag,  dragged  their  fevered,  perspiring  bodies  on  leaden 
feet  back  to  work,  each  day  finding  it  just  a  little 
harder. 


112  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

Some  of  those  assistants,  endowed  with  wisdom, 
complete  their  first  term  of  two  years,  and  reaching 
home  again — stay  there. 

The  others? 

Some  of  them  have  been  known  to  live  through 
three  "contracts" — six  years. 

It  is  a  short  life — without  mirth. 

Miss  Severoid  saw  Davie  Tait  reopen  the  kernel 
store,  and  rising,  went  to  the  dining-room  door  and 
called  a  maid. 

The  chief  steward,  who  was  enjoying  a  siesta  in  a 
cubby-hole  of  a  place  in  the  rear,  roused  himself  lazily 
and  answered,  and  Miss  Severoid  gave  him  the  note  to 
McClure  with  positive  instructions  to  have  it  delivered 
immediately. 

"Wait  for  answer,"  she  added  as  an  afterthought. 

"Yes'm.     I  busy,  m'm.     I  sen'  gell,  m'm?" 

"All  right." 

The  steward  went  back  to  the  "galley,"  encountered 
Ilora  in  the  doorway,  and  constituted  her  his  messenger. 

"Foh  Massa  MaClu,"  he  said  briefly.  "M'm  Sev'- 
roi'  say  wait  foh  ansah.  Savvy?" 

Ilora  took  the  note  and  grinned. 

The  steward,  unfortunately,  mistook  the  meaning  of 
that  grin.  In  the  succeeding  minute  he  was  nursing 
the  thumb  of  his  right  hand  which  Ilora's  outraged  dig 
nity  had  made  her  bite  upon,  with  the  instincts  of  her 
cannibalistic  great  grandparents  in  the  deed. 

Then,  clutching  Miss  Severoid's  note,  she  fled 
straight  to  McClure;  or  rather,  to  Agigi,  who  stood 
between. 

Agigi  took  the  note  and  told  her  to  wait.  But  she 
followed  him  and  halted  in  the  doorway  of  McClure's 
office  as  the  trader,  with  his  head  swathed  in  bandages 
and  garbed  in  a  light-weight  dressing-gown  and  slip 
pers,  came  from  his  bedroom. 


NO  ANSWER  113 

Agigi  gave  him  the  note  and  he  read  it,  hesitating  a 
little  upon  the  name  "Elizabeth."  Then  he  looked 
from  under  his  lowering  eyebrows  at  Ilora,  who  fidget 
ed  and  scuffled  her  feet. 

"You  be  maid  at  mission  beach?"  McClure  asked 
thickly,  while  Agigi,  with  a  scowling  glance  at  the  girl, 
went  leisurely  back  to  his  post. 

"Yessah." 

"You  be  Warrigirl?" 

Ilora  acknowledged  the  compliment  by  grinning. 
Warri  girls  were  the  belles  of  the  Delta. 

"Yessah." 

"Umph!" 

McClure  looked  out  through  the  open  windows  for 
fully  a  minute,  and  his  great  hands  crushed  Miss  Sev- 
eroid's  note  unmercifully. 

Ilora  watched.  Ignorant  and  savage  as  she  was, 
she  was  first  of  all  a  woman,  and  she  knew  where  Mc 
Clure  had  captured  Clavering  the  previous  evening. 

The  muscles  of  his  jaw  bulged  prominently. 

"There  is  no  answer,"  he  said,  and  turning  abruptly, 
went  back  into  his  bedroom,  sharply  closing  the  door 
behind  him. 

Ilora  did  not  move  for  a  moment  or  two.  There 
was  a  dull,  phlegmatic  look  upon  her  face. 

Then,  muttering  something  in  Jackrie  that  did  not 
sound  pretty,  she  shrugged  her  shiny  black  shoulders 
and  scuffled  away,  spreading  her  face  in  an  unholy 
grin. 

Her  mutterings,  translated,  ran: 
"When  a  Jackrie  woman  loves  two  men  at  the  same 
time,    one   of    the   three    always   dies.     Usually   the 
woman." 

That  was  why  she  grinned. 

She  did  not  like  Miss  Severoid  very  much. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ARRANGEMENTS 

UPON  receiving  McClure's  negative  reply  to  her 
note,  Miss  Severoid  did  not  fly  into  a  rage  nor  wipe 
McClure's  name  from  the  slate  of  her  memory.  She 
bit  upon  her  amazement  and  chagrin,  and  swallowing 
them  with  considerable  difficulty,  tried  to  understand. 

Then  she  remembered  that  McClure  had  said  to 
Fletcher's  assistant  that  he  would  call  for  her,  and  the 
•"ague  possibility  that  he  knew  of  Clavering's  visit  be 
came  a  disturbing  probability !  It  was  the  only  thing 
she  could  think  of  that  could  possibly  account  for  his 
startling  change  of  front. 

But  she  did  not  call  upon  him  that  afternoon  to  try 
to  explain,  or  to  receive  an  explanation.  Nor  did  she 
call  any  afternoon,  nor  any  time. 

That  was  not  her  way. 

He  would  come  to  her  when  she  wanted  him. 

However,  several  suns  rode  scorchingly  over  Seg- 
wanga's  galvanized  roofs ;  tornadoes  came  and  torren 
tial  rains  descended,  making  the  swamps  more  swampy ; 
and  several  other  little  things  happened  before  Miss 
Severoid — but  that  comes  later. 

Fletcher  went  home,  babbling  eternal  devotion  to 
two  blue  eyes  and  a  crown  of  dull  gold  hair;  and  for 
got  about  them  when  he  reached  Las  Palmas.  There 
a  dark,  Spanish  beauty  deprived  him  of  his  senses  and 
his  ready  cash  and  left  him  to  the  mercy  of  untipped 
stewards. 

Dawson,  the  district  commissioner,  whose  knee  had 

114 


ARRANGEMENTS  115 

stopped  a  rebel  bullet,  also  departed,  telling  Miss  Sev 
eroid  that  he  was  "Awf'ly  sorry  to  go,"  and  that  he 
would  be  "jolly  glad"  if  she  would  call  on  his  people  in 
Kensington  when  she  got  back  to  London. 

"They'd  be  wild  to  know  you,  since  you've  been  so 
good  to  me." 

And  Miss  Severoid  smiled  queerly  and  said  in  a  far 
away  voice  that  it  would  be  a  pleasure.  When  he  had 
gone  she  tore  up  the  address  he  had  given  her. 

Clavering  was  silent,  and  Cralla  remained  away  as 
the  days  dragged  their  torrid  length  to  a  close,  until 
Miss  Severoid  became  anxious  again,  even  to  the  point 
of  showing  it. 

But  McClure's  face  healed,  and  his  head  was  re 
leased  from  the  smother  of  bandages  in  time  to  allow 
him  to  attend  the  funeral  of  his  senior  assistant,  who 
contracted  blackwater  fever  at  three  o'clock  one  after 
noon  and  was  buried  at  seven  that  evening. 

The  corners  of  Davie  Tait's  mouth  were  bluish-white 
that  night.  He  made  only  a  pretense  of  eating  dinner. 
McClure,  who  understood,  paid  a  visit  to  the  young 
man's  room  afterward  and  found  him  huddled  in  a 
chair,  gazing  fearfully  out  toward  the  cemetery  and 
fingering  the  butt  of  his  ever-ready  revolver  as  though 
he  loved  it. 

"Funkitis"  is  sometimes  as  dangerous  as  other  more 
scientifically  determined  maladies  that  are  pronounced 
to  have  fatal  results.  McClure  did  not  speak  at  first ; 
just  strode  over,  collared  the  weapon,  and  pulled  Davie 
to  his  feet. 

The  boy  whined  and  shrank  from  him. 
"I'd  like  to  go  over  the  outstanding  kernel  checks 
with  you,  Mr.  Tait,"  McClure  said  mildly.  "I  think 
some  of  them  must  have  been  paid,  and  we  must  have 
forgotten  to  mark  them  off.  Any  trouble  with  Balli 
this  morning?" 


Ii6  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

Balli  was  a  Sobo  trader  and  Davie's  pet  aversion. 

He  swallowed  and  stood  a  little  straighten  His 
teeth  stopped  chattering,  and  he  was  palpably  ashamed. 

"N-no,"  he  admitted  throatily.  "He  knows  better 
than  to  monkey  with  me.  B-but  I  had  to  boot  one  of 
his  boys  for  trying  to  sell  me  the  same  bushel  twice." 

McClure  gripped  his  arm  and  turned  him  toward 
the  door. 

"Yes?     How  was  that?" 

And  Davie,  gathering  voice  and  steadiness  and  a 
healthy  volubility,  went  on  to  explain  the  circumstances 
of  the  attempted  theft;  while  McClure,  listening  very 
attentively  to  the  recital  of  a  time-worn  trick,  led  his 
gradually  quieting  assistant  along  to  his  own  quarters, 
where  he  made  him  work  and  sweat  the  fear  of  death 
out  of  his  system. 

Later,  when  Davie  had  returned  to  his  room  and  had 
fallen  into  a  comparatively  restful  sleep,  McClure  tip 
toed  in  to  "have  a  look  at  him,"  and  stood  for  a  little 
while  watching  him  breathe. 

"Umph!  Sleep  with  your  mouth  open,  eh?  Per 
haps  I'd  better  send  you  home  before  the  rains  become 
real  devilish,  or  I  may  have  another  of  these  damned 
letters  to  write." 

He  stooped  and  gently  wiped  the  perspiration  from 
the  boy's  forehead.  Then  he  returned  to  his  office  and 
reluctantly  began  upon  a  letter  to  the  deceased  assist 
ant's  mother,  glancing  sullenly  and  disturbedly  across 
the  creek  now  and  then.  He  wondered  why  Miss  Sev- 
eroid  stayed  up  so  late. 

Both  her  green  and  white  shaded  lamps  were  burn 
ing  brightly. 

Just  then,  however,  Miss  Severoid  was  not  even  at 
home.  But  she  was  rapidly  getting  there. 

Seated  in  a  shell-like  canoe,  hoping  the  thing  would 
not  capsize,  and  watching  the  easy,  steady  sweep  of 


ARRANGEMENTS  117 

Ilora's  paddle,  she  was  wondering  if  the  girl  could 
really  be  trusted. 

In  a  note  she  had  received  from  Clavering  that 
morning — a  note  she  found  on  her  writing  table  after 
breakfast — he  had  said  that  Ilora  was  one  of  Cralla's 
girls.  It  would  be  perfectly  safe,  he  wrote,  to  meet 
Cralla  and  himself  that  evening  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Akerri  Creek,  which  was  immediately  below  Bates  & 
Mahler's  beach. 

The  object  was  to  make  definite  plans  with  the  chief 
of  Akerri  for  the  proposed  journey  to  Benin  City. 

Naturally,  Miss  Severoid  had  hesitated  at  first  and 
had  battled  in  a  state  of  indecision  all  day.  In  spite  of 
Clavering's  assurance,  she  did  not  trust  Ilora  enough  to 
be  comfortable;  and  that  the  girl  was  in  Cralla's  em 
ploy,  and  had  been  at  the  mission  as  a  maid  for  sev 
eral  weeks,  was  a  disturbing  thought. 

It  made  her  angry  at  first,  then  coldly  deliberate  and 
very  careful ;  so  careful  that  there  was  a  revolver  in 
her  hand-bag. 

But  it  was  the  death  of  McClure's  senior  assistant 
that  decided  her,  because  it  appalled. 

The  swiftness  of  it  was  staggering.  In  the  grip  of 
a  great  fear  that  seized  her,  she  ridiculed  her  puny  mis 
givings,  became  determined — desperate,  in  fact.  She 
was  now  returning  home  feeling  that  it  hadn't  been 
such  a  desperate  business  after  all,  even  though  Claver 
ing  was  not  there  and  she  had  been  compelled  to  inter 
view  the  chief  alone. 

Ilora  had  piloted  her  past  the  watch-boys  in  a  man 
ner  providing  a  lesson  in  stealth  that  made  her  feel 
rather  creepy  and  afraid,  but  she  had  emulated  the 
Jackrie  girl's  methods  with  an  aptitude  that  was  star 
tling  even  to  herself. 

And  then  they  had  sped  swiftly  down-river  through 
an  opaque  darkness  to  the  rendezvous. 


ii8  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

Finding  Chief  Cralla  alone,  Miss  Severoid  had  pro 
duced  her  revolver  with  such  haste  and  directness  that 
Cralla  almost  capsized  his  own  canoe  and  Ilora's  in  his 
anxiety  to  get  away. 

Ilora  simply  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  wound  her 
arms  about  her  knees ;  but  Cralla,  muttering  in  Jackrie 
and  leaning  over  the  gunwale  of  his  canoe,  gripped 
that  of  Ilora's  as  though  he  were  afraid  to  hold  on,  yet 
disinclined  to  let  go. 

"Where  is  he  ?"  Miss  Severoid  demanded,  trembling 
like  a  leaf,  yet  keeping  the  revolver  pointed  to 
Cralla's  broad  chest.  "Why  isn't  he  here?" 

"He — he  no  can  come,"  the  chief  sputtered  desper 
ately,  and  seemed  to  be  trying  to  appreciate  the  fact 
that  he  was  being  discomfited  by  a  woman.  "He  say 
he  sorry  he  no  fit  to  come.  I  talk  true.  Lie  be  so-so 
small-boy  talk.  I  be  chief!  I  be  big  man  for  my 
country !  My  mouf  talk  true  word  all  time !" 

"Oh — rubbish!"  Miss  Severoid  was  more  angry 
than  afraid  now.  "What  did  Mr.  Clavering  tell  you 
to  say  to  me  ?  When  are  we  to  go,  and  how  ?  What 
plans  have  you  made— or  have  you  made  any  ?" 

Cralla  recoiled  from  the  storm  of  questions  almost 
as  much  as  he  did  from  the  revolver,  and  his  respect 
for  the  beautiful  but  terrible  white  lady  apparently  in 
creased.  He  sniveled. 

And  to  the  last  moment  of  that  strange  meeting, 
with  fireflies  flickering,  and  the  constant  buzz  and  hum 
of  queer  insects  in  her  ears — with  other  canoes  pass 
ing  the  pitlike  mouth  of  the  creek  like  fantoms,  the 
dip  and  swish  of  their  paddles  sounding  not  unlike  the 
rustle  of  a  shroud — Miss  Severoid  dominated  the  pro 
ceedings  entirely  and  arrived  at  an  understanding  of 
what  was  expected  of  her  in  a  very  definite  manner. 

The  possibility  of  immediate  danger  became  a  neg 
ligible  quantity  with  each  passing  minute.  Though 


ARRANGEMENTS  119 

she  could  not  see  Cralla's  face  very  well,  she  judged 
by  his  manner  of  disclosing  his  plans  of  the  trip  that 
they  had  been  well  thought  out,  and  that  he  was  com 
paratively  sincere  in  his  intentions  and  was  willing  to 
give  her  the  benefit  of  his  services  ungrudgingly — be 
cause  Clavering  said  so. 

He  did  not  enthuse,  however,  upon  McClure  being 
one  of  the  party.  This  made  Miss  Severoid  only  the 
more  determined  to  have  the  trader's  company.  She 
said  so  forcefully,  and  Cralla  shrugged  his  shoulders 
indifferently  and  made  no  further  comment. 

Advising  that  any  maids  or  boys  brought  along 
should  be  very  carefully  selected,  he  suggested  that 
Ilora  be  Miss  Severoid's  choice  for  a  maid.  Though 
she  demurred  at  that,  she  did  not  argue  the  point. 
Ilora,  with  her  face  buried  between  her  knees,  grinned 
evilly. 

"They  would  be  ready  to  start,"  as  Cralla  put  it, 
"four  day  pass" ;  which  meant  Tuesday  of  the  follow 
ing  week. 

Returning  to  the  mission  in  perfect  safety,  and 
reaching  her  room  by  way  of  the  deserted  kitchen  and 
dining-room,  Miss  Severoid  dismissed  Ilora  pleasantly 
enough.  The  Jackrie  girl  having  gone  to  her  mat  in 
the  mud  hut,  her  mistress  stood  for  some  little  time 
watching  the  light  that  burned  in  McClure's  office. 

The  missionary  and  his  wife  had  retired  an  hour 
before,  and  the  beach  was  very  still. 

Then,  suddenly  yet  deliberately,  Miss  Severoid  blew 
out  the  white-shaded  lamp,  leaving  the  green  burning 
brightly;  and,  with  another  glance  across  the  creek, 
she  slipped  out  into  the  dining-room  and  down  the  rear 
stairs,  coming  to  a  halt  in  the  kitchen  doorway.  But 
only  for  a  moment. 

The  back-beach  watch-boy's  lamp  wagged  to  the 
right  of  the  mission  hall;  and  when  the  boy  turned 


120  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

and  went  the  other  way,  Miss  Severoid  gathered  her 
skirts  firmly  in  both  hands  and  tiptoed  swiftly  past 
him,  with  but  a  faint  flutter  of  petticoats,  into  the 
grove  of  palms.  Along  this  she  sped  at  breakneck 
pace  till  she  reached  the  bridge. 

There,  panting  and  leaning  heavily  upon  the  wooden 
rail,  she  stopped  to  listen  and  to  wait. 


CHAPTER  XV 


McCLURE  was  not  compelled  to  write  his  late  senior 
assistant's  mother.  He  had  already  cabled  Marsden  & 
Co.'s  home  office  in  Liverpool,  which  was  all  that  was 
expected  of  him,  apart  from  gathering  the  deceased's 
belongings  together  and  shipping  them  home. 

But  he  perspired  over  that  voluntary  epistle  of  con 
solation,  told  soothing  lies  about  the  dead,  and  omitted 
to  mention  that  much  cold  beer  is  sometimes  respon 
sible  for  blackwater  fever,  particularly  when  the  sea 
sons  are  changing. 

I  can  assure  you  that  everything  that  could  be  done — 

He  raised  his  head,  dabbed  the  perspiration  from  his 
forehead  and  neck,  glanced  out  through  his  windows 
and  saw  that  Miss  Severoid's  white-shaded  lamp  was 
out,  while  the  other  with  the  green  shade  burned 
steadily. 

Instantly  he  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  half -smothered 
exclamation  of  surprise  and  anger,  remembering  at 
once  that  when  the  white  light  went  out  first  it  was  the 
signal  that  Miss  Severoid  needed  help. 

It  was  no  time  for  questions  or  for  the  harboring  of 
resentment,  he  told  himself  hurriedly,  tightening  his 
belt  and  grabbing  up  his  revolver  as  he  went  out.  He 
could  blow  Clavering's  head  off  and  be  of  service  to 
the  whole  community. 

121 


122  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

Miss  Severoid's  share  in  the  matter  was  simply  that 
of  the  flame  that  had  singed  the  moth's  wings,  making 
the  shooting  easier. 

And  any  one  who  would  have  had  the  temerity  to 
suggest  any  deeper  motive  for  McClure's  speed  would 
have  been  in  danger  of  his  life. 

Swinging  down-stairs  to  the  beach  three  steps  at  a 
time,  yet  quietly,  he  ran  a  few  yards,  walked,  then  ran 
again,  passing  the  surprised  watch-boy  with  a  grunted 
"All  right,  Dubla,"  and,  reaching  the  bridge,  made  its 
long-suffering  planks  creak  under  his  pounding  weight. 

Then  he  plunged  into  the  avenue  of  palms. 

"Mr.  McClure!" 

He  stopped  as  though  lassoed  from  behind,  and 
whirling  about,  heard  the  flutter  of  skirts  and  saw  a 
shadow  come  from  behind  a  palm. 

"It — it's  me,"  the  shadow  said  naively.  "And — 
and  he's  gone.  I  ran  away  from  him  down  the  back 
stairs." 

She  was  at  McClure's  side  very  quickly,  gripping  his 
arms  and  looking  affrightedly  up  into  his  face. 

He  did  not  speak.  But  she  could  feel  him  tremble 
as  though  he  were  afraid  of  her. 

"I  meant  to  come  right  over  the  bridge  to  you,"  she 
confided  simply.  "But  your  watch-boy  frightened  me, 
and  I  didn't  want  everybody  to  know  that — that — you 
know  what  I  mean?" 

A  short  pause. 

"Is  your  head  all  better?" 

McClure  stiffened. 

"Thank  you.     It  is  quite  better." 

Another  pause.     They  had  the  world  to  themselves. 

"You — you're  angry  with  me  ?" 

Something  like  a  snort  of  annoyance  came  from  the 
depths  of  McClure's  chest. 

"No.     Not  at  all.     How  do  you  know  he  is  gone  ?" 


THE  "TRAP"  123 

"Because  I  heard  him,"  Miss  Severoid  lied  deliber 
ately.  "He— he's  a  beast !" 

"Is  he?  Why  tonight  any  more  than — any  other 
time?" 

Then  Miss  Severoid  knew  why  McClure  had  be 
come  cold  and  distant.  Her  hands  fell  from  his  arms 
and,  turning  her  face  in  the  direction  of  the  mission, 
she  moved  away  from  him  without  another  word,  and 
drifted  slowly  into  the  darkness. 

McClure  did  not  stir  for  quite  a  while. 

Then  he  followed.  There  was  a  furrow  of  pain  be 
tween  his  eyes. 

At  the  mission-end  of  the  avenue  Miss  Severoid 
stopped  and  waited. 

"Why  do  you  follow  me?"  she  asked,  and  her  tone 
indicated  that  she  was  a  little  tired  of  misunderstand 
ings  and  of  fighting. 

"To  be  sure  that  you  reach  home  safely/' 

Yet  another  pause.  Neither  moved.  The  watch- 
boy's  lamp  glimmered  through  the  trees. 

"I — I  wish  you  wouldn't  be  so — terribly  proper.  I'd 
rather  you  got  decently  angry  and  swore.  But  you 
can  take  me  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  if  you  like." 

"Thank  you." 

"Oh— bosh!" 

She  suddenly  linked  her  arm  in  his  and,  without  fur 
ther  ado,  started  off  again,  crossing  the  mission  beach 
without  attempting  to  elude  the  watch-boy.  Calling 
softly  to  him  that  it  was  "All  right,"  she  led  McClure 
to  the  kitchen  doorway. 

There  she  halted  again. 

"I'll  go  this  way,"  she  whispered.  "Because  I 
might  wake  Mrs.  Steel  if  I  went  up  the  front  stairs. 
It — it's  terribly  dark  in  there,  isn't  it  ?" 

"Yes,  quite,"  McClure  agreed,  peering  into  the 
kitchen.  "Shall  I  find  a  lamp  for  you?" 


124  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"N-no ;  never  mind.  And  if  I  break  my  neck  on  the 
stairs  it  wouldn't  matter  much,  would  it  ?" 

"That  depends  on  what  your  life  is  worth  to  you," 
McClure  returned  in  sonorous  ease.  "Are  you  quite 
sure  he  is  gone?  If  you  ran  away  from  him,  how  do 
you  know  he  isn't  waiting  for  you  to  come  back 
again  ?" 

"Don't!  You  frighten  me!  Per — perhaps  you'd 
better — better  come  up  and  make  sure." 

McClure  smiled  under  cover  of  the  darkness  and 
secretly  congratulated  himself  for  having  been  so  clever 
as  to  frighten  her  into  proffering  the  invitation. 

"Yes,  I  think  I'd  better,"  he  agreed,  and  they  moved 
into  the  deeper  darkness  of  the  kitchen. 

Miss  Severoid's  soft  left  hand  groped  a  little  while, 
then  crept  trustingly  into  McClure's  giant  right.  She 
felt  him  start,  stop,  and  then  go  on  again  breathing 
audibly. 

They  climbed  the  stairs  in  silence,  and  crept  quietly 
into  the  dining-room ;  then,  leading  the  way  on  tiptoe 
and  pulling  on  McClure's  index  finger,  Miss  Severoid 
very  carefully  piloted  him  into  her  sitting-room. 

"He's  gone!"  she  sighed  thankfully  after  a  quick- 
glance  around  the  room.  "I  suppose  he  thought  I'd 
wake  everybody  up.  Sit  down  a  minute  till  I  get  my 
breath." 

And  she  led  him  to  a  chair,  sat  him  down  in  it,  and 
stood  off  a  pace  or  two,  stirring  up  the  air  with  a 
dainty  fan  and  smiling  rather  sadly  over  the  top  of  it. 

McClure  felt  ill  at  ease  and  looked  it.  He  had  a 
curious  sensation  of  having  been  trapped  (which  he 
had  been),  and  though  the  jaws  of  the  trap  were  soft 
as  velvet,  they  held  more  firmly  than  any  steel. 

Then  Miss  Severoid  put  the  fan  aside.  She  rarely 
used  one,  because  "you  always  feel  so  much  warmer 
afterward." 


THE  "TRAP"  125 

"Do  you  know  that  you  have  been  very  disagree 
able  ?"  she  asked  quietly,  standing  scarcely  a  foot  away 
from  McClure's  chair.  "And  I  thought  I  could  trust 
you  not  to  judge  harshly  or  in  haste.  But  I'm  going 
away  next  week — Tuesday — and  since  you  are  here,  I 
thought  I'd  tell  you  that  you  won't  have  to  bother 
about  me  after  that.  It  will  be  a  relief,  won't  it  ?" 

McClure's  face  showed  some  of  his  surprise.  He 
choked  down  the  rest. 

"Being  transferred  to  Calabar,  I  suppose?"  he  asked, 
trying  to  speak  as  though  it  did  not  matter  very  much 
to  him. 

"Oh,  no,  nothing  like  that.  I'm  going  to — Benin 
City." 

"Ben—" 

McClure's  mouth  remained  open.  Then  he  laughed 
shortly  in  ridicule. 

"That  should  be  very  interesting." 

"Yes,  I  think  so,  too.  Chief  Cralla  is  going  to  take 
me  there.  He  knows  all  about  the  place." 

"You — you're  mad!" 

McClure  started  from  his  chair,  thunder  in  his  face 
and  lightning  in  his  glance. 

Miss  Severoid  calmly  drew  back  a  pace. 

"Sh!  You  might  wake  Mrs.  Steel,"  she  cautioned 
softly.  "And  you  don't  look  a  bit  nice — that  way." 

McClure  swallowed,  subsided  slowly,  and  sat  quite 
still. 

For  a  longer  time  than  he  had  any  idea  of  he  made 
no  further  comment,  but  his  heavy  look  of  interroga 
tion  did  not  wander  from  her  face  for  the  fraction  of 
a  second.  She  returned  his  scrutiny  quietly,  a  quaint 
smile  lurking  in  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"What  is  this?"  McClure  asked  moodily  at  last 
"A  joke?" 

Miss  Severoid  shook  her  head. 


126  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"No.  Serious  as  can  be.  I  want  to  go  to  Benin 
City,  and  I  am  going  to  start  next  Tuesday  with  Chief 
Cralla.  If  we  can't  get  a  launch,  we  are  going  to  take 
Cralla's  forty-paddle  canoe  and,  of  course,  a  whole  lot 
of  things  to  eat.  That's  why  I'm  telling  you  about  it, 
because  if  I  placed  the  order  for  provisions  with  any 
one  else,  the  consulate  people  might  hear  of  my  expe 
dition,  and  be  mean  enough  to  prevent  me  going.  But 
I  can  trust  you  not  to  say  a  word  about  it,  can't  I  ?" 

McClure  smiled  in  a  sickly  fashion,  not  at  all  sure 
why  he  did  so,  because  he  was  groping  in  an  outer 
mental  darkness  that  made  him  feel  very  stupid  and 
unequal  to  the  occasion.  He  tried  to  say  something — 
something  sententious  and  fitting  that  would  grip  the 
whole  business  at  once,  fling  it  aside,  and  have  done 
with  all  the  damn  tomfoolery. 

To  begin  with,  Benin  City  and  suicide  were  correla 
tives.  They  went  hand  in  hand  like  "father  and  son." 
Life  was  the  cheapest  thing  in  the  place.  Particularly 
a  white  man's,  which  had  no  value  whatever  except  as 
a  source  of  amusement  for  those  who  loved  to  watch 
its  light  flicker  and  die — slowly,  very  slowly. 

So,  of  course,  that  was  impossible ;  and  as  for  travel 
ing  alone  with  Chief  Cralla — 

McClure's  vocabulary  did  not  suffice.  It  became 
pale  and  weak  and  doddering  when  he  tried  to  say  what 
he  thought  of  that! 

Consequently,  he  did  not  say  anything  about  it ;  just 
sputtered  for  a  minute  or  two.  Then,  rising  suddenly 
to  the  full  measure  of  his  seventy-four  inches,  he  de 
cided  tersely : 

"I  won't  fill  your  order  for  provisions." 

Miss  Severoid's  mouth  drooped  instantly  and  piti 
fully,  and  the  look  she  gave  him  made  him  feel  that 
perhaps  he  had  been  unnecessarily  brutal. 

The  trouble,  he  told  himself  quickly,  was  that  she 


THE  "TRAP"  127 

did  not  understand.  Some  one  had  been  filling  her 
head  with  a  lot  of  nonsense — Clavering  probably ;  and 
some  one  else  would  have  to  knock  it  out  again — but 
in  a  manner  somewhat  more  gentle  than  his  first 
attempt. 

Then,  she  was  standing  very  near  him.  It  was  diffi 
cult  to  understand  how  she  had  come  so  near.  All  the 
world  around  him,  its  scattered  lights,  its  indistinct 
sounds,  its  silences,  and  its  gloom — faded. 

"Do  you  really  mean  that  you  won't  fill  my  provi 
sion  order?" 

Her  voice  was  soft,  her  glance  of  trusting  confidence 
still  softer.  And  the  tips  of  her  fingers  were  upon  his 
arm,  lightly,  so  that  he  knew  they  were  there  and  no 
more  than  that. 

"But,  good  heavens,  Miss  Severoid !     You — " 

"Please!  No  excuses  or  reasons  or  arguments.  I 
know  them  all  already.  Benin  City  is  terrible  and 
wicked  and  filthy  and  cruel,  and  I  may  never  come 
back.  But  I  am  going  there,  if  I  have  to  go  alone  and 
crawl  on  my  hands  and  knees  to  it.  Even  if  I  have  no 
food ;  even  if — oh,  in  spite  of  everything  that  isn't  nice 
or  right  or  proper  or  sane!  I'm  going!  That's  set 
tled — like  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians. 

"Now,  will  you  fill  my  order  ?     Yes  or  no  ?" 

McClure  made  no  answer,  but  subconsciously  his 
arms  crept  up,  and  gently  gripping  her  arms,  he  held 
her  away  from  him,  and  looked  into  her  face  as  though 
he  were  studying  every  line  and  curve  with  a  micro 
scope. 

Miss  Severoid  did  not  mind;  at  least  she  made  no 
objection. 

"I — see,"  he  said  sonorously  at  last. 

"What?"     Miss  Severoid  smiled  expectantly. 

"Er — nothing.  Might  I  ask  why  you  want  to  go  to 
Benin  City  so  desperately?" 


128  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

Miss  Severoid  made  a  delightful  little  grimace  which 
said  that  questions  were  barred. 

"Perhaps  I'll  tell  you  if  you  promise  to  let  me  have 
the  provisions,"  came  the  careful  answer. 

McClure's  grip  upon  her  arms  relaxed  hopelessly. 

"Please  sit  down.  I  can  talk  to  you  better  that 
way." 

Somewhat  dazed,  and  feeling  his  command  of  him 
self  and  his  convictions  regarding  the  impossibility  of 
everything  slowly  diminishing,  McClure  resumed  his 
seat.  The  dull  clanging  of  a  beach-bell  told  him  it  was 
eleven-thirty,  but  he  was  not  thinking  of  that  when 
Miss  Severoid  stood  beside  his  chair,  and  seemed 
likely  to  perch  herself  upon  the  arm  of  it  at  any 
moment. 

"Do  you  know  that  sometimes  you  are  just  a  great 
big  boy?"  she  reproved  gently,  and  her  eyes  glowed 
with  motherliness.  "Most  men  are.  You  want  to  be 
petted  and  pampered  and  made  much  of,  and  you  sulk 
and  jump  to  all  sorts  of  nasty  conclusions  about  things. 
Not  because  you  think  your  conclusions  are  true,  but 
because  you  want  to  justify  your  sulkiness  with  some 
thing  or  other. 

"I  might  tell  you  why  I  allowed  some  one  to  come 
here — and  then  you'd  be  all  better  again,  and  you'd  be 
miserable,  too,  for  thinking  whatever  you  did  think. 
But  I  won't  tell  you.  I  won't  pamper  your  vanity  that 
far.  Because  if  you  won't  give  me  these  old  provi 
sions  I'll  just  do  without  them.  But  please  don't  be 
mean.  Just  help  me  and — and  perhaps  I  might  even 
let  you  go  with  me !" 

She  laughed  teasingly  down  at  him,  and  saw  a  glim 
mer  of  hope  in  his  face.  His  answering  smile  was  a 
shame- faced  affair,  and  he  looked  as  if  he  had  been 
lectured  and  did  not  know  what  to  say  in  his  own 
defense. 


THE  "TRAP"  129 

But  the  dogged  sort  of  pride  he  had  helped  him  a 
little. 

"How — er — that  is — how  do  you  know  I  would  go, 
even  if  you  were  so  very  good  as  to  give  me  a  chance 
to  commit  suicide  that  way?" 

Miss  Severoid's  glance  ridiculed  the  possibility  of 
his  going. 

"Oh,  I  was  only  joking.  I  wouldn't  ask  you  to  go 
— wouldn't  have  it  on  my  conscience.  You  see,  I 
know  where  I  am  going  and  why,  and  I  know 
the  chance  I  am  taking  in  traveling  alone  with 
Cralla,  and — and  trusting  to  the  advice  of  some  one 
else.  But  you  don't  know  anything  about  it.  All  you 
know  about  me  is  that  I  was  a  shepherdess  once — and 
that  isn't  very  much,  is  it  ?" 

McClure  went  a  little  farther  out  to  sea.  He  tried 
desperately  to  understand  and  to  frame  a  question 
that  might  help  to  elucidate  matters. 

"You — that  is — you  have  a  very  particular  reason 
— in  fact  a  desperate  reason  for  wanting  to  go  to  Benin 
City?" 

"Isn't  that  obvious?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so.  And  Clavering,  after  some 
gentle  persuasion,  offered  his  advice?" 

"M-hm."     She  said  it  like  a  child  of  ten. 

McClure  regarded  her  in  silence,  very  much 
troubled. 

"And  you  are  going  to  take  his  advice  ?" 

"Exactly." 

A  pause.  McClure  chewed  upon  his  mustache 
with  a  cloud  hovering  over  his  eyes.  Miss  Severoid 
appeared  to  be  interested  in  a  sand-colored  house-lizard 
pursuing  a  fly,  and  there  was  nothing  in  her  expression 
that  even  hinted  at  an  understanding  of  the  danger  in 
the  venture  upon  which  she  was  so  determined  to 
embark. 


1 30  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"Why— Cralla?"  McClure  asked  at  last. 

"Cralla  is  a  friend  of  Daka's  and  knows  the  place." 

"Umph!  And  friend  Clavering?  What's  his  share 
in  the  plot?" 

"He's  not  going,"  idly  moving  toward  a  small  table 
and  picking  up  the  fan  again. 

"Not  going!  Do  you  expect  me  to  believe  that 
Clavering  hasn't  some  ulterior  motive  in — " 

"He  may  have,"  indifferently.  "I  haven't  had  time 
to  bother  about  that.  Without  him  I  could  do  nothing. 
With  him  I  believe  I  can  do  anything.  And  I  think 
you  know  it,  though  you  are  too  stubborn  to  admit  it. 

"Anyway,  you're  not  so  horrified  as  you  were  at 
first,  and  presently  you'll  begin  to  think  that  it  might 
be  possible  to  go  even  to  Benin  City  and  come  back 
alive.  Of  course,  you  haven't  the  incentive  I've  got. 
That  makes  a  difference. 

"I  am  going  from  Akerri  Creek  on  Tuesday  night 
at  twelve,  and  I'd  like  the  provisions  and  things  to  be 
there  at  eleven-thirty.  If  you'd  like  to  bring  them 
yourself  and  say  good-by  to  me,  you  may.  Clavering 
won't  be  there.  Just  Cralla  and  his  boys  and  my  maid 
and  I.  I'll  send  you  the  provision-list  to-morrow  or 
next  day.  Will  that  do?" 

McClure  wanted  to  say  no — to  rise  and  condemn  the 
venture  roundly  and  pronounce  it  to  be  a  dastardly 
trick  of  Clavering's  to  inveigle  Miss  Severoid  away 
from  the  safety  of  the  settlement  into — 

But  McClure's  mind  dared  not  go  any  further  than 
that. 

And  something  he  had  seen  in  Miss  Severoid's  face 
when  he  had  studied  it  so  closely  had  told  him  it  would 
be  useless  to  argue  or  try  to  dissuade;  an  indefinable 
something  in  the  set  of  her  firm  little  jaws  that  made 
danger  and  death  seem  wofully  insignificant. 

So  he  made  no  further  comments ;  just  rose  slowly 


THE  "TRAP"  131 

to  his  feet.  She  backed  away  from  him  as  though  she 
were  a  little  afraid. 

The  beach  bell  said  it  was  twelve  o'clock. 

"Very  well.  Send  the  provision-list  over  any  time. 
I'll  look  after  it." 

"Oh— thank  you!" 

Her  hand  went  out  impulsively  and,  for  want  of 
anything  better,  caught  at  the  second  button  of  his 
light  flannel  coat,  which  she  twisted  about  nervously, 
looking  as  though  she  wanted  to  say  something  and 
couldn't. 

"You — you  believe  in  me,  don't  you?" 

It  came  slantingly  up  at  him  from  under  her  droop 
ing  lashes;  a  look  in  which  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
heaven  and  just  a  trace  of — elsewhere. 

McClure's  hands  moved  restlessly,  and  for  a  second 
or  two  it  was  as  if  he  would  take  the  same  liberty  that 
Clavering  had. 

And  then  he  straightened,  silently  exhaling  the  deep 
breath  he  had  drawn. 

"All  right.  Send  the  list  over  any  time.  Good 
night." 

In  a  second  Miss  Severoid  was  alone  and  in  another 
her  eyes  were  misty. 

But  she  shook  her  head  in  protest  against  the  threat 
ening  tears  and,  going  out  upon  the  veranda,  gazed 
with  trancelike  steadiness  at  the  shrouded  river. 

A  low-draft  cargo  boat  lay  off  the  Produce  Associa 
tion  beach,  and  her  lights  were  the  only  ones  twinkling 
upon  the  water.  Everything  was  darkness  and  silence 
and  the  promise  of  terrible  things  to  come. 

Miss  Severoid  was  not  thinking  of  them,  however. 
Her  mind  was  triumphantly  whispering  in  the  teeth  of 
the  last  thing  Clavering  had  said  to  her. 

"He'll  come!  Yes,  he  will!  And  I  didn't  have  to 
kiss  him  once !" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    FALL   OF    MC  CLURE 

McCLURE  felt  somewhat  numb  and  dazed.  He  was 
not  quite  sure,  as  he  pounded  his  way  back  to  Mars- 
den's,  whether  he  had  been  more  of  a  cad  than  a  sim 
pleton — or  just  a  plain  fool.  Probably  a  mixture  of 
all  three.  He  was  equally  uncertain  regarding  the 
particular  process  by  which  Miss  Severoid  had  made 
his  sullen  determination  not  to  be  "fooled  again"  alter 
to  a  sneaking  sensation  that  he  owed  her  an  apology. 

His  mind  blinked,  searched,  and  blinked  again. 

Miss  Severoid  had  been  simply  herself — sweet  and 
gentle  and  forgiving  and  beautiful.  Nothing  more 
than  that;  yet,  without  effort,  she  had  robbed  him  of 
the  things  he  might  have  said — had  made  him  believe 
that  he  had  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  himself. 

She  had  suggested  that  he  should  atone  for  his  hasty 
judgment  by  bringing  the  provisions  down  to  Akerri 
Creek  on  Tuesday  at  eleven-thirty,  so  that  he  might 
have  an  opportunity  to  wish  her  a  safe  journey — to 
Benin  City — in  the  company  of  Chief  Cralla! 

Quite  as  if  she  were  going  to  Brighton  with  her 
mother ! 

McClure's  jaws  dropped  foolishly. 

Great  Heavens  f  What  had  he  been  thinking  about  ? 
It  was  impossible,  insane,  suicidal ! 

There  was  everything  against  it — reason,  experi 
ence,  propriety — and  nothing  for  it. 

Arguments  and  threats  of  danger  he  might  have 
used  to  prove  to  Miss  Severoid  just  how  utterly  im- 

132 


THE  FALL  OF  McCLURE  133 

possible,  insane  and  suicidal  it  was  came  to  his  tongue 
in  a  flood.  He  would  put  a  stop  to  the  crazy  under 
taking;  he  would  not  let  her  go;  he  would — 

And  then  he  smiled  in  a  sickly,  annoyed  way,  know 
ing  very  well  that  his  arguments  and  threats  would  be 
entirely  useless. 

In  the  succeeding  few  days  McClure  felt,  in  truth,  a 
little  ashamed  of  himself;  partly  because  he  had  so 
hastily  judged  a  lady  and  had  so  palpably  made  his 
judgment  known,  but  greatly  because  in  satisfying  his 
own  resentment  against  Clavering  he  had  allowed  that 
shifty  gentleman  to  slip  through  his  fingers. 

Because  of  that  he  felt  still  more  responsible  for 
Miss  Severoid's  safety. 

He  considered  that,  having  allowed  Clavering  to 
escape,  he  was  in  a  great  measure  responsible  for  the 
outlaw's  future  depredations.  Although  he  could  not 
protect  every  one  from  the  spoiler,  he  could  at  least 
do  what  he  could  for  those  he  knew  to  be  in  danger. 

It  was  a  magnificent  argument. 

But  "those  in  danger"  went  no  further  than  Miss 
Severoid ! 

In  short,  he  had  no  intention  of  allowing  her  to 
travel  alone  in  the  company  of  the  chief  of  Akerri. 
That  was  neither  nice  nor  safe. 

If  he  could  not  dissuade  her  from  her  purpose,  there 
\vas  but  one  thing  left  for  him  to  do.  And  he  spent  a 
great  deal  of  his  time  making  plausible  excuses  to 
himself  for  even  thinking  about  it. 

But  apart  from  all  that  he  felt  that  there  was 
treachery  afoot.  He  did  not  trust  Clavering's  advice. 
It  interested  him  to  learn  how  Cralla  had  become  a 
toady  of  the  outlaw's  so  quickly  after  the  Saganna 
p  ft  air,  at  which  Cralla  had  been  most  rabidly  anti- 
C  layering. 


134  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

That  in  itself  was  suspicious,  and  McClure  believed 
that  by  thrusting  his  company  upon  the  expedition 
without  a  word  of  warning  he  could  quickly  get  a  hint 
of  "something  in  the  wind"  by  the  manner  in  which 
Cralla  accepted  him. 

Which  proves  how  very  wide  of  the  mark  McClure 
really  was. 

But  so  far  as  the  reason  for  the  expedition  was  con 
cerned,  the  vague  guess  he  made  was  not  so  poor.  He 
believed  that,  somehow  or  other,  the  reason  spelled — 
Debenham. 

He  had  nothing  very  definite  upon  which  to  build 
such  a  conclusion.  Nothing  more  than  that  Miss  Sev- 
eroid  and  Ralph  Debenham  had  been  "something  to 
each  other" ;  that  Miss  Severoid  was  not  in  any  sense 
a  Mission  Lady;  and  that  she  had  allowed,  perhaps 
encouraged,  Clavering  to  call  upon  her  so  that  she 
might  have  the  benefit  of  his  advice  and  assistance  in 
a  matter  in  which  he,  because  of  his  knowledge  of 
things  "under  the  surface,"  was  better  able  to  give 
advice  than  any  one. 

"Without  Clarcring  I  could  do  nothing;  with  him, 
I  believe  I  can  do  anything." 

McClure  recalled  that  expression  of  Miss  Severoid's 
attitude  toward  the  outlaw  with  something  of  a  jar; 
but  he  had  to  admit  the  truth  of  it,  if  she  were  really 
searching  for  the  vanished  assistant.  Since  Cralla 
had  been  Debenham's  closest  friend  among  the  natives 
the  chief's  part  in  the  proposed  expedition  dovetailed 
very  neatly  into  McClure's  hypothesis.  This  was  just 
insufficient  enough  to  make  him  wish  to  augment  or 
disprove  it. 

When  Miss  Severoid's  provision-list  reached  him  he 
smiled  at  its  frugality,  which  he  attributed  to  a  naive 
ignorance.  He  made  up  a  list  of  his  own,  adding 


THE  FALL  OF  McCLURE  135 

numerous  necessities  in  the  way  of  cooking  utensils, 
cutlery,  earthenware,  liquors  for  native — and  human 
— consumption;  camp  equipment,  and  native  rations. 
The  last  Miss  Severoid  had  omitted  altogether. 

A  son  of  the  Delta  may  find  canned  pate  de  foies 
gras  palatable,  but  he  prefers  a  portion  of  salt  beef 
large  enough  to  necessitate  the  use  of  both  hands,  and 
which  he  can  tear  apart  with  teeth  that  have  been  filed 
for  that  purpose. 

On  Tuesday  morning  McClure  sent  for  his  stock 
clerk — his  second  in  command  since  the  shop  clerk  had 
died — and  gave  him  the  list. 

"I  am  going  for  a  little  jaunt,  Mr.  Graham,"  he  ex 
plained  ambiguously.  "And  I  am  not  sure  when  I 
may  be  back.  Have  that  stuff  on  board  the  Rover 
after  dinner  to-night — no  later  than  ten  o'clock — and 
don't  make  a  fuss  about  it.  Understand  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Good.  And — er — you  needn't  bother  seeing  me 
off." 

"Very  good,  sir.     And  when  you  are  gone — " 

"Oh,  yes.  I  cabled  the  home  office  last  Friday  to 
send  me  some  one  to  take  Gilmore's  place,  and  I  imag 
ine  they'll  transfer  a  man  from  Bonny,  Bakana,  or 
Calabar.  He  should  be  here  in  a  week  at  latest.  Then 
you'll  stay  in  the  shop  and  give  the  new  man  the 
stock.  Just  let  things  run  easily  till  I  get  back,  and 
don't  try  your  'prentice  hand  on  prices.  Let  them 
stand." 

"Very  good,  sir.     I  hope  you'll  have  a  pleasant  trip." 

"Thanks.  I  think  I  shall.  And  if  you  take  care  of 
my  job  as  well  as  you  have  been  in  the  habit  of  taking 
care  of  yourself,  the  firm  won't  have  anything  to 
worry  about." 

Graham  tried  to  mumble  his  appreciation  of  the 
compliment  and  sidled  toward  the  door. 


136  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"And  by  the  way,"  McClure  halted  him.  "You 
might  keep  an  eye  on  Tait,  and  don't  let  him  sit  alone 
in  his  room  at  night.  Take  him  out — make  him  drunk 
if  you  like,  but  don't  let  him  think.  He's  got  lots  of 
sand,  but  too  much  imagination.  I  think  you'd  better 
get  him  to  change  rooms  with  Parsons  or  the  new 
man.  Theirs  don't  face  the  cemetery." 

Graham  did  not  smile.     "All  right,  sir." 

McClure  grunted. 

"I  hope  it  is,"  he  muttered  and  stared  sullenly  out 
through  the  open  windows  down  river. 

Graham  waited.  He  knew  there  was  something 
else. 

Then  McClure's  hand  went  out  suddenly  and  sav 
agely  for  a  cable  blank. 

"Get  a  canoe  ready  to  go  down  to  Burutu  with  this 
at  once,"  he  snapped.  Dabbing  his  pen  into  the  ink, 
he  wrote  in  the  firm's  private  code  as  Graham  hurried 
to  obey : 

MARSDEN  &  Co.,  Liverpool. 

Recall  Tait  per  cable  immediately.  Pay  him  year's  salary  and 
charge  the  difference  to  me.  Too  young.  I  want  men.  This 
isn't  a  kindergarten.  MCCLURE,  Segwanga. 

A  little  later,  watching  the  cable  messenger  pad 
dling  swiftly  toward  the  Burutu  curve,  McClure  bit 
upon  his  cigar  a  little  harder  and  mumbled : 

"It  won't  hurt  so  badly  coming  from  headquarters 
— and  he'll  thank  me  for  it  ten  years  hence." 

Ilora  carried  Miss  Severoid's  small  uniform  case 
down  to  the  waiting  canoe  at  eleven-fifteen  on  Tuesday 
night. 

She  made  no  attempt  at  concealment.  The  mission 
ary  and  his  wife  had  retired  punctually  at  ten,  as 
was  their  habit,  and  the  water-front  watch-boy  was 


THE  FALL  OF  McCLURE  137 

huddled  under  the  stairway  with  an  empty  bottle  of 
very  bad  Hamburg  gin  at  his  side. 

Miss  Severoid  did  not  know  that. 

During  these  preliminaries  to  the  expedition  she  was 
in  Ilora's  hands.  Somewhat  pale  and  biting  nervously 
at  her  lips,  she  followed  the  Jackrie  girl  on  tiptoe  to 
the  wharf-steps. 

Halting  there  a  moment,  she  looked  up  at  Mrs. 
Steel's  windows,  then  went  slowly  down  the  steps,  and 
took  her  place  in  the  canoe. 

A  convulsive  little  shudder  shook  her  from  head  to 
foot  as  the  shell-like  craft  slid  away  from  the  steps, 
and  she  clenched  her  hands  tightly  and  shut  her  teeth 
firmly  upon  a  threatening  sob. 

For  a  while  she  sat  quite  still,  looking  straight 
ahead,  numb  and  cold  in  the  grip  of  a  terror  she  could 
not  shake  off.  Then,  with  a  supreme  effort,  she 
looked  behind. 

And  faintly  she  saw  a  large  "something"  come 
leisurely  out  of  the  gloom  and  follow  them. 

The  color  came  back  into  her  cheeks  and  lips;  the 
numbness  and  the  terror  drifted  as  if  by  magic.  She 
hugged  herself  in  a  sudden  ecstasy,  and  a  wonderful 
smile  curved  her  lips. 

She  knew  that  the  larger  "something"  in  the  rear 
was  the  Rover. 

Under  the  guidance  of  a  colored  engineer  who 
answered  to  the  prosaic  name  of  John,  the  Rover  crept 
slowly  after  Ilora's  canoe  to  the  mouth  of  Akerri 
Creek,  where  another  canoe  of  much  larger  dimensions 
waited. 

That  was  Cralla's  forty-paddle  power  craft,  boast 
ing  a  mat-strewn  "deck"  and  an  awning  of  woven 
native  grasses. 

Twenty  boys  sat  forward  of  the  deck  and  twenty 
aft.  They  were  all  garbed  alike,  in  white  singlets 


138  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

and  bright-red  overcloths,  and  they  had  been  trained 
to  appreciate  the  gift  of  silence  to  such  an  extent  that 
there  was  not  even  a  whisper  heard  among  them. 

In  a  few  moments  McClure  had  inserted  the  Rarer 
and  himself  into  the  proceedings,  without,  however, 
making  known  his  full  intentions. 

Cralla  seemed  rather  glad  to  see  him — a  fact  which 
did  not  surprise  McClure  in  the  least.  It  only  made 
him  all  the  more  suspicious. 

From  her  uncertain  seat  in  Ilora's  canoe  Miss  Sever- 
oid  greeted  him  with  a  smile  that  was  lost  in  the 
darkness.  But  he  heard  her  whisper : 

"It  was  very  good  of  you  to  come.  I'd  like  to  go 
up  there  to  see  that  everything  is  all  right  with  the 
provisions  and  to  pay  my  bill." 

So  McClure  assisted  her  to  the  deck  of  the  launch, 
while  Cralla,  peering  out  from  under  the  awning  of 
his  canoe,  watched  their  every  movement. 

Ilora  waited. 

"Where  are  they?"  Miss  Severoid  asked  a  little 
breathlessly,  referring  to  the  provisions. 

And  McClure  caught  her  arm  and  stayed  her  a  yard 
or  two  from  the  little  cabin  doorway. 

"Never  mind.  I'll  look  after  them.  And  I  think 
you'd  better  get  your  maid  up  here  and  take  posses 
sion  of  the  cabin.  Plymouth  !" 

"Yessah." 

A  massive  black  object  appeared  out  of  a  coil  of 
rope  and  shuffled  into  more  distinct  shape  and  view, 
resolving  into  a  squat,  broad-visaged  Kroo-boy  who 
had  been  called  Plymouth  because  he  had,  by  accident 
upon  one  occasion,  been  carried  that  far  away  from 
home  on  an  English  cargo-boat. 

His  face  was  mostly  mouth  and  nose,  and  he  did 
not  seem  to  have  any  eyes  at  all.  But  alone  and  un 
aided  he  could  heave  a  one-hundred-and-ninety-gallon 


THE  FALL  OF  McCLURE  139 

puncheon  of  palm-oil  off  its  bilge,  consequently  prov 
ing  himself  to  be  of  more  service  in  the  world  than 
some  of  his  more  civilized  white  brothers  who  use  the 
oil  in  the  form  of  scented  soaps. 

"Small  box  live  for  canoe,"  McClure  said  tersely, 
referring  to  Miss  Severoid's  uniform  case.  "Bring  it 
up  and  put  it  in  the  cabin." 

"Yessah." 

"But — "  Miss  Severoid  protested,  and  really  did  not 
try  to  go  any  further. 

"I  think  you'll  find  the  cabin  comfortable,"  McClure 
interrupted  deliberately,  and,  taking  her  gently  by  the 
shoulders,  turned  her  face  toward  it.  "And  please 
don't  force  me  to  make  a  bigger  fool  of  myself  than 
I  am  now.  I  am  going  to  talk  to  Cralla  about  his 
boys.  We  won't  need  them  all." 

Miss  Severoid  glanced  quickly  up  into  his  face,  and 
her  expression  was  one  of  blank  amazement. 

"You — you're  coming  with  us?" 

McClure  looked  as  though  he  were  ashamed  of 
himself. 

"I  am  afraid  I  am,"  he  said  incisively,  and  abruptly 
turned  from  her  to  the  rail  to  hold  whispered  consulta 
tion  with  Cralla,  feeling  that  he  had  "taken  command 
of  the  situation." 

Miss  Severoid,  descending  into  the  Rover's  cabin, 
smiled  sweetly  and  knowingly  into  the  eery  darkness — 
unafraid. 

The  following  morning  Segwanga  awoke  to  learn 
that  Miss  Severoid  had  departed  in  the  night,  taking 
her  small  cabin  trunk  with  her,  and  that  McClure  of 
Marsden's  had  also  gone — nowhere  in  particular. 

Which  of  course  made  Segwanga  gasp. 

But  after  a  while  it  began  to  think,  and  speedily 
came  to  the  very  natural  conclusion  that  Miss  Severoid 


140  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

and  McClure  had  gone  off  together.  In  short,  that 
they  had — eloped! 

[Though  Heaven  alone  knew  where  they  could  elope 
to. 

In  any  case,  some  of  the  men  smiled,  others  were 
curious  and  cynical  and  predicted  dire  disaster,  while 
the  rest  simply  "didn't  know  what  to  think." 

But  there  was  no  search-party  organized.  Even 
the  district  commissioner  took  the  matter  rather 
phlegmatically,  though  he  did  send  a  runner  to  Saloko 
to  let  his  friend  Talbot,  the  D.  C.  there,  know  about  it. 
But  it  was  generally  conceded  that  McClure,  knowing 
the  country  as  he  did,  knew  too  much  to  be  found  if  he 
did  not  wish  to  be. 

Clavering  had  thought  of  that  when  he  had  sug 
gested  McClure  as  a  companion  for  Miss  Severoid. 
His  own  name  was  never  even  hinted  at  in  connection 
with  the  matter. 

The  burden  of  responsibility  for  Miss  Severoid's 
safety  rested  entirely  on  McClure's  broad  shoulders. 

Killing  several  birds  with  one  stone  was  a  subtle 
science  with  Clavering. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

ON   THE    MAYONA    ROAD 

TRAILING  Chief  Cralla's  canoe  behind,  the  Rover 
reached  Saloko  the  following  evening,  purposely  after 
dark  and  without  incident.  In  fact,  that  first  leg  of 
the  trip  was  almost  tiresome,  even  to  Miss  Severoid. 

There  was  nothing  to  see.  The  solid,  drab-green 
bank  of  the  bush  followed  them  in  two  almost  inces 
sant,  interminable  lines,  broken  only  at  intervals  where 
a  few  dun-colored  mud  huts  obtruded  themselves,  or 
where  the  ravaging  fury  of  wind  and  rain  had  torn  up 
trees  by  the  roots  and  lashed  the  unchanging  green  into 
white-scarred,  yawning  hollows. 

One  creek  was  just  like  another.  Though  they 
passed  innumerable  canoes  of  all  sizes,  none  afforded 
more  than  a  lazy  glance  of  interest.  The  few  cargo- 
boats  they  encountered  were  no  more  exciting  than 
cargo-boats  usually  are,  except  that  John,  the  engineer, 
had  instructions  to  avoid  them  as  much  as  possible. 

And  when  Miss  Severoid  had  counted  the  third 
floating  body  of  a  native,  riding  leisurely  upon  his 
watery  bier  toward  the  sea,  even  that  gruesome  spec 
tacle  had  lost  its  newness,  though  it  made  her  feel 
chilly  and  unpleasantly  uncertain  about  the  stability  of 
her  knees. 

Those  bodies  had  not  been  committed  to  the  waters 
with  any  great  ceremony ;  most  of  them  by  the  simple 
medium  of  a  violent  push,  accompanied  by  an  unex 
pected  blow  from  behind  with  the  butt  of  a  muzzle- 

141 


142  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

loader  or  the  broad  blade  of  a  machete;  and  as  the 
tentacles  of  law  and  order  were  still  a  trifle  short  and 
inefficient,  they  did  not  reach  far  enough  to  pry  into 
matters  so  purely  personal  to  the  family.  So  the 
bodies  just  drifted  and  nobody  bothered  very  much 
about  them. 

Cralla  had  accepted  McClure  almost  without  com 
ment,  and  had  quite  willingly  agreed  that,  in  view  of 
the  assistance  the  launch  would  give,  at  least  ten  of  his 
boys  would  be  unnecessary. 

Consequently,  that  number  had  been  left  behind  at 
Akerri.  The  others  were  to  act  as  carriers. 

The  chief  had  not  supplied  McClure  with  any  defi 
nite  information  regarding  the  proposed  entrance  into 
Benin  City,  nor  did  he  say  why  they  were  going  there. 
So  far  as  McClure  was  concerned,  the  whole  affair 
was  wrapped  in  a  veil  of  mystery,  the  solution  to 
which  he  could  only  conjecture.  He  was  not  even  in 
Miss  Severoid's  confidence,  and,  stubbornly  deter 
mined  not  to  ask  for  information,  he  avoided  her  as 
much  as  the  limited  dimensions  of  the  launch  would 
permit. 

Miss  Severoid  appreciated  his  situation  perfectly; 
knew  that  he  was  there  simply  to  guide  and  to  guard, 
without  having  more  than  a  vague  conception  of  why 
she  was  doing  so  desperate  a  thing;  and  as  once  before 
— the  first  time  she  had  met  him,  in  fact — she  had 
wished  to  tell  him  the  whole  story  from  beginning  to 
end,  she  was  tempted  to  do  so  again  ere  they  reached 
Saloko.  But  she  didn't. 

McClure's  devotion  was  so  large  and  so  splendidly 
blind  that  she  thought  she  would  enjoy  it  while  she 
could. 

Afterward  ? 

Miss  Severoid  was  afraid  there  wouldn't  be  any 
afterward. 


ON  THE  MAYONA  ROAD  143 

For  the  greater  part  of  the  way  to  Saloko  Cralla 
lolled  upon  the  matted  "deck"  of  his  canoe  with  a 
black  tarpaulin-covered  carrier's  pack  for  a  pillow,  and 
was  apparently  oblivious  of  all  that  went  on  about  him, 
rousing  himself  into  a  sitting  posture  only  when  it  was 
time  to  eat.  According  to  his  attitude,  the  venture 
had  all  the  aspects  of  a  picnic. 

Then  in  a  dark,  bush-bound  creek  a  short  distance 
south  of  Saloko  the  launch  came  to  a  stop  opposite  a 
deserted  clearing — deserted  presumably  because  a  juju 
had  hurled  an  anathema  upon  it — and  a  landing  was 
effected  without  interruption  or  intrusion. 

A  bush  path  led  from  the  rear  of  the  clearing  to  the 
Benin  City  road,  and  within  an  hour  the  carriers  had 
taken  up  their  apportioned  loads  and  had  started  off, 
led  by  a  lamp-boy. 

There  were  few  words  spoken. 

Cralla  muttered  orders  in  Jackrie,  interspersed  with 
an  appropriate  oath  or  two,  and  the  threat  of  choice 
punishments  for  those  among  the  carriers  who  stum 
bled  or  were  otherwise  tardy.  He  did  not  approach 
within  a  dozen  yards  of  Miss  Severoid  during  the  pro 
ceedings;  in  fact,  he  so  palpably  held  aloof  that  his 
attitude  toward  her  was  obvious  even  to  McClure,  who 
stood  by  her  side  quietly  watching  the  carriers  load  up 
in  the  very  uncertain  light  of  a  few  hurricane  lamps. 

Cralla  followed  them  from  the  clearing  with  a 
grunted  "All  ri' !"  that  fell  somewhere  between  Miss 
Severoid  and  McClure,  and  with  an  answering  grunt 
and  a  final  glance  about  him  the  trader  ordered  Ilora 
to  follow  Cralla. 

Then,  with  Plymouth  showing  the  way  with  a  lamp, 
he  and  Miss  Severoid  brought  up  the  rear,  while  the 
launch,  towing  Cralla's  canoe,  departed  into  hiding 
near  the  village  of  Okanna,  where  it  was  to  remain 
until  called  for. 


144  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

Miss  Severoid  clung  tightly  to  McClure's  arm,  but 
she  made  no  sound ;  and  the  trader,  measuring  his  step 
to  hers,  gave  no  hint  of  his  sensations  in  speech.  But 
he  felt  as  though  he  ought  to  pick  her  up  and  carry  her. 

Bush  travel  is  bad  enough  in  daylight,  particularly 
when  the  rainy  season  is  near.  But  at  night  it  is 
infinitely  worse;  fraught  with  many  unpleasantnesses, 
including  snakes,  centipedes;  loose,  hanging  branches 
that  threaten  the  eyes;  treacherous  hollows  underfoot 
that  play  havoc  with  one's  ankles,  and  all  manner  of 
things  that  crawl,  fly,  and  sting  and  leave  ugly  sores. 

On  beaten  paths,  however,  the  toil  is  not  so  great 
Miss  Severoid  was  to  learn  that  the  path  from  the 
deserted  clearing  of  Buloki  to  the  Benin  City  "road" — 
a  distance  of  about  two  miles — was  a  boulevard  com 
pared  with  others  she  was  forced  to  travel.  The  car 
riers  tramping  on  ahead  did  double  duty,  inasmuch  as 
they  cleared  the  path  of  trailing  creepers  and  crawling 
undergrowths,  and  whispered  hoarse  warning  when  a 
branch  hung  too  low. 

Then  they  were  out  upon  the  Benin  City  road — a 
path  a  few  feet  broader  than  usual — and  the  pace 
increased. 

Their  objective  was  Taomi,  which  they  hoped  to 
reach  before  midnight,  so  that  they  might  start 
again  early  in  the  morning  and  accomplish  several 
hours'  marching  ere  the  noonday  sun  brought  them 
to  a  halt. 

And  with  nothing  more  startling  than  the  yelping 
of  hungry  bush-dogs,  the  squeaking  chatter  and  fright 
ened  scampering  of  little  colonies  of  wakeful  monkeys, 
the  silent  party  tramped  through  the  sweltering  night 
and  trooped  into  Taomi  shortly  after  eleven  o'clock. 

Apparently  Cralla— or  Clavering  perhaps — had 
made  all  the  necessary  arrangements,  even  to  provid- 


ON  THE  MAYONA  ROAD  145 

ing  Miss  Severoid  with  a  "private  hut,"  in  which 
among  other  things  she  was  startled  to  find  a  perfectly 
new  and  clean  camp-bed,  draped  with  mosquito-cur 
tains. 

McClure,  who  stood  in  the  doorway,  studied  the  evi 
dences  of  Clavering's  thoughtfulness  in  silence,  while 
Miss  Severoid,  rather  pale  and  very  tired,  clumped 
with  an  honest  sigh  of  relief  into  an  unbelievable  Ma 
deira  chair  and  stretched  her  aching  limbs  out  upon  the 
leg-rest. 

Cralla  was  somewhere  in  the  blackness  outside, 
ordering  his  boys  about;  and  Ilora,  placid  of  counte 
nance,  hung  back  in  the  shadows  near  the  bed,  await 
ing  the  pleasure  of  her  mistress. 

Then  Plymouth  appeared  behind  McClure,  carrying 
something  very  bulky  on  his  back. 

"Be  bed  foh  Mishun  Lady,  sah!"  he  grunted,  since 
his  master  did  not  move  out  of  the  doorway  to  let  him 
pass. 

McClure  did  not  even  turn  his  head. 

"All  right.  Take  it  back  and  pack  it  up  again.  It 
isn't  needed." 

"A*  ri',  sah!"  Plymouth  grumbled  and  ambled 
heavily  away. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  know  you  had — "  Miss  Severoid  be 
gan  in  a  hopeless,  apologetic  tone,  and  tried  to  see 
McClure's  face  more  distinctly. 

"I  think  you  should  be  fairly  comfortable,"  came 
the  measured  interruption.  "Better  get  all  the  sleep 
you  can.  Good  night !" 

"Good — good  night !" 

She  heard  him  striding  away,  and  heard  him  stop 
to  speak  to  Cralla  in  a  mixture  of  Jackrie  and  pidgin 
English  that  was  most  exasperating.  There  was 
something  about  "sunrise"  and  "Mayona,"  and  the 


I46  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

chief's  fawning,  "Yessah,  Mistah  MaClu' !"  to  every 
thing  the  trader  said  had  an  ominous  hint  of  sneering 
laughter  in  it. 

Then,  as  she  lay  back  in  her  chair  and  allowed  Ilora 
to  unlace  her  walking-boots,  her  eyelids  drooped  and 
the  sounds  without  became  a  distant  hum.  She  was 
too  tired  to  be  afraid. 

In  a  few  minutes,  according  to  her  calculations,  it 
was  morning.  She  sat  up  in  bed  and,  rubbing  her  eyes 
vigorously,  found  Ilora,  sullen  and  uncommunicative, 
standing  over  her  with  a  cup  of  very  hot  cocoa  in  her 
hand. 

Closer  examination  discovered  a  neatly  folded  chit 
in  the  saucer,  and  Miss  Severoid  almost  upset  the  cup 
in  her  anxiety  to  know  what  the  note  contained. 

Hope  you  slept  well.  I  think  you  had  better  use  the  hammock 
most  of  the  way  to  Mayona.  It  is  rather  rough  underfoot,  and 
you  are  not  accustomed  to  this  sort  of  thing. 

I  shall  probably  have  an  opportunity  to  talk  to  you  in  Mayona, 
and  you  can  tell  me  what  you  think  of  Cralla's  behavior.  Till 
then — an  revoir.  G.  C. 

Miss  Severoid  was  not  in  the  least  sleepy  after  that, 
particularly  when  she  saw  the  hammock  that  had  been 
left  at  her  door  as  by  a  fairy  princess  in  the  night. 
Her  spirits  took  a  sudden  bound,  and  she  even  hummed 
to  herself  as  she  dressed,  seeming  to  forget  the  stuffi 
ness  of  the  hut  and  the  noisome  odors  that  threatened 
to  make  breakfast  a  difficulty. 

But,  as  if  to  prove  how  exhilarating  an  effect  Claver- 
ing*s  note  had  had,  she  ate  with  relish  the  early  break 
fast  Ilora  brought  in  a  little  later. 

The  Jackrie  girl's  face  wore  a  mask.  She  had 
scarcely  slept  at  all,  but  had  lain  all  night  upon  a  mat 
near  the  door,  watching  the  mosquito-curtained  camp- 
bed  with  venom-filled  eyes. 

There  was  nothing  very  definite  about  her  hatred. 


ON  THE  MAYONA  ROAD  147 

Jealousy,  of  course,  had  some  part  in  it;  but  the  soft 
whiteness  of  Miss  Severoid's  skin  was  so  wonderfully 
soft  and  white  and  unblemished  that  Ilora  had  an 
unholy  desire  to  mutilate  it.  But  she  knew  that  to 
rise  and  chop  at  Miss  Severoid's  head  with  a  machete 
would  not  gain  her  anything  more  than  a  momentary 
satisfaction,  because  she,  too,  would  surely  die. 

Cralla  would  slit  her  throat  like  a  bush-dog's,  and 
would  trail  her  to  the  shores  of  Lake  Tchad  to  do  it; 
and,  apart  from  not  being  anxious  to  die  at  all,  Ilora 
had  notions  about  death  that  soared  a  little  higher  than 
a  bush-dog's. 

When  McClure  came  in  to  advise  that  everything 
was  in  readiness  Ilora  backed  into  a  corner,  showing 
the  whites  of  her  eyes. 

She  was  afraid  of  McClure  at  any  time,  but  particu 
larly  in  the  daylight.  When  he  looked  at  her  she 
quaked ;  when  he  ignored  her  and  gave  all  his  attention 
to  Miss  Severoid  she  hated  the  latter  a  little  more  and 
did  not  so  much  regret  having  struck  McClure  with  a 
hurricane  lamp.  She  hoped  he  would  quickly  learn 
of  Miss  Severoid's  "perfidy,"  and  would  promptly 
wreak  an  appropriate  vengeance  upon  her. 

Ilora  wanted  to  be  there  when  he  did  it. 

"Some  one  seems  to  have  been  very  good  to  you," 
McClure  remarked  casually  to  Miss  Severoid  as  he 
looked  the  hammock  over.  "I  suppose  these  are  your 
bearers  ?" 

Four  boys  in  the  Cralla  regalia  of  white  singlets  and 
red  overcloths  hung  about  the  door,  waiting  for  orders. 
McClure  knew  they  were  not  Akerri  boys,  but  that 
they  had  been  hired  from  the  chief  of  Taomi  for  the 
occasion. 

Miss  Severoid  smilingly  joined  the  trader  in  the 
doorway. 

"Oh,  isn't  that  nice?"  she  exclaimed  sweetly,  and  as 


I48  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

though  she  had  not  seen  the  hammock  before.  "Are 
they  going  to  carry  me?  I  hope  I  don't  fall  out." 

"There  isn't  much  fear  of  that,"  McClure  returned, 
and  his  glance  traveled  to  where  all  of  Taomi  was 
gathered  in  chattering  discord  about  Cralla  and  the 
carriers,  who  were  making  ready  to  take  up  their 
packs.  "And  I  think  you  had  better  get  into  it  and 
drop  the  curtains  so  that  the  common  eye  of  Taomi 
may  not  see  who  is  so  great  as  to  be  permitted  to  use 
Harmattan  Clavering' s  hammock." 

Miss  Severoid  shot  him  a  sidelong  glance  and  found 
him  passive. 

"It  was  very  thoughtful  of  him,  don't  you  think 
so?"  she  asked  rather  timidly  after  a  pause. 

"Very,"  McClure  answered  tersely,  and  said  noth 
ing  about  the  hammock  he  had  included  in  his  own 
equipment. 

That  was  the  second  time  in  a  very  few  hours  that 
Clavering  had  forestalled  him,  thereby  depriving  him 
of  the  pleasure  of  showing  Miss  Severoid  how 
thoughtful  he,  McClure,  had  been. 

A  few  minutes  later,  with  Cralla  driving  his  car 
riers  on  ahead,  McClure  walked  beside  the  curtained 
hammock.  Plymouth  and  Ilora  brought  up  the  rear, 
while  Taomi  town — more  than  half  naked,  but  un 
ashamed — jabbered  and  mumbled  a  sullen  good-by. 

Then  the  suffocating  oppressiveness  and  the  insalu 
brious  odors  of  the  village  were  left  behind.  The  low- 
hanging  morning  mist  lifted  and  vanished  as  the  sun 
climbed  steadily  over  the  bush-rimmed  horizon. 

But,  as  Clavering  had  said  in  his  note,  the  road  to 
Mayona  was  rather  rough  underfoot. 

It  was  worse  than  that;  a  mere  ribbon  of  a  path 
that  wound  its  uneven  way  through  the  gloomy  and 
stifling  heart  of  the  bush,  and  seemed  to  lead  to  no- 


PN  THE  MAYONA  ROAD  149 

where.  Its  curves  and  twists  were  baffling,  and,  criss 
crossed  by  other  similar  paths,  the  result  was  a 
confusing  network  of  byways,  any  of  which  might 
have  been  the  Mayona  road. 

Yet  Cralla,  looking  neither  to  right  nor  left,  and 
betraying  none  of  his  private  opinions  upon  the  busi 
ness,  went  steadily  on,  herding  his  carriers  before  him 
like  cattle.  Not  once  did  he  turn  his  head  to  look 
back.  He  had  not  addressed  a  single  remark  to  the 
"beautiful  white  lady"  since  the  trip  began. 

As  for  Miss  Severoid,  she  was  very  grateful  for  the 
hammock,  even  though  the  jolting  and  swaying  of  it 
resembled  the  experience  she  had  had  in  the  turbulent 
Bay  of  Biscay,  when  the  waves  were  washing  the  win 
dows  of  the  saloon  companion. 

But  there  was  no  fear  in  her  face  as  they  plunged 
mile  after  mile  into  the  mysterious  Beni  country,  and 
McClure,  pounding  along  at  her  side,  mopping  the 
perspiration  from  his  face  and  forehead,  studied  her 
surreptitiously  and  wondered  what  magnificent  hope 
kept  her  face  so  calm  and  her  eyes  so  marvelously 
tender. 

He  spoke  but  seldom.  It  was  too  hot  to  talk. 
Every  little  while  he  glanced  upward  through  the 
leafy  covering  overhead  in  search  of  rain. 

Not  that  he  wanted  any.     He  didn't. 

Ilora  and  Plymouth  came  on  behind  at  a  comfort 
able,  tireless  jog;  the  girl  placidly  indifferent,  the 
Kroo-boy  watching  her  covetously  out  of  the  slits  that 
served  him  for  eyes. 

They  were  a  queer  company,  bent  upon  a  queerer 
mission. 

Traveling  natives  they  met  stopped,  stared,  and  then 
passed  on,  muttering  dire  prophecies.  The  inhabitants 
of  villages  that  groveled  in  heathenish  filth  leaped,  as 


1 5o  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

it  seemed,  out  of  the  reeking  swamps,  and  strangely 
marked  faces  obtruded  themselves  to  peer  at  the  silent 
procession  as  at  the  supernatural. 

But  there  was  no  sign  of  hostility;  merely  the  wide- 
eyed  wonder  and  curiosity  that  are  the  due  of  a 
phenomenon. 

Then,  about  ten  o'clock,  when  the  heat  was  making 
itself  felt  in  real  earnest,  Miss  Severoid  saw  a  snake — 
a  silver-and-black  reptile  of  impressive  length  and 
girth — wriggling  away  into  the  underbrush.  She 
shivered  a  little;  but  after  that  she  looked  for  other 
things  that  crept  along  the  ground  instead  of  up  into 
the  trees  in  search  of  monkeys. 

But  she  did  not  see  any  more  snakes — not  then.  In 
a  few  minutes  it  seemed  as  if  the  sound  of  Cralla's 
voice  as  he  hurried  the  carriers  along  was  the  only 
sound  in  the  world.  Almost  every  sign  of  animal  life 
had  vanished,  and  the  sun  went  out  behind  a  gathering 
of  gray-black  clouds. 

She  looked  up  at  McClure  to  see  what  he  thought 
about  it.  Before  she  could  speak  a  piercing  scream 
broke  in  upon  the  choking  stillness. 

Glancing  swiftly  ahead,  she  saw  that  one  of  the  car 
riers  had  fallen,  and  that  Cralla,  hippo-hide  thong  in 
hand,  was  standing  over  the  unfortunate  wretch,  cut 
ting  him  viciously  about  the  head  and  shoulders,  draw 
ing  blood  with  every  lash. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  sight.  Miss  Severoid  shut  her 
eyes  upon  it  till  the  hammock  suddenly  stopped.  Then 
somehow  or  other  she  was  out  of  it,  racing  toward 
Cralla. 

McClure  reached  him  first. 

There  was  a  confusion  of  sounds — of  Jackrie  oaths 
and  short,  sharp  words  in  English,  followed  by  the 
thud  of  heavy  fists. 


ON  THE  MA  YON  A  ROAD  151 

Miss  Severoid  had  a  vision  of  McClure  standing 
over  the  fallen  carrier  like  a  sculptured  champion  of 
the  oppressed ;  and  Cralla,  helmetless  and  clutching  his 
jaw,  was  staggering  into  a  background  of  open- 
mouthed  carriers. 

Followed  a  moment  or  two  of  deep,  deep  silence. 

Ilora  and  Plymouth  and  the  hammock- boys  were 
somewhere  behind  her,  but  as  McClure  bent  over  the 
moaning  victim  of  Cralla's  rage  Miss  Severoid  saw  no 
one  but  Cralla. 

She  saw  him  steady  himself,  and  his  face  seemed  to 
change  in  a  moment. 

The  sycophantic  chief  of  Akerri  had  vanished.  In 
his  place  there  was  a  snakelike  man  whose  jet-black 
eyes  burned  with  a  hell-born  hate,  and  whose  lips, 
curving  over  his  glistening  teeth,  made  a  cruel,  wisp- 
like  line.  The  skin  over  his  cheek-bones  drew  tighter 
and  tighter  till — 

Miss  Severoid  screamed  at  the  horror  of  it ;  a  short, 
sharp  sound  that  made  McClure  straighten  suddenly. 

And  in  that  second  Cralla  leaped  forward. 

The  ugly,  black  hippo  thong  whirled  savagely  and 
cut  McClure  across  the  eyes ! 

A  guttural  of  pain  escaped  him,  and  he  reeled  back 
ward  into  Plymouth's  arms,  throwing  his  hands  up  to 
his  face.  Ilora,  who  dared  not  play  any  part,  hung, 
moaning  and  quivering,  in  the  rear. 

Miss  Severoid  did  not  move.  She  was  staring  at 
Cralla  with  a  queer  look  of  unbelief  in  her  face. 

Her  head  was  swimming  round ;  but  she  had  a  hazy 
understanding  of  the  fact  that  Cralla  was  looking 
straight  at  her,  and  that  a  moment  or  two  later  he  was 
cringing  away  from  her  step  by  step  till  he  finally 
turned  with  amazing  swiftness  and  ran  into  the  sud 
den  blackness  that  descended  upon  them. 


152  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

A  dazzling  flash  of  forked  lightning  rent  the  world 
in  two.  It  was  followed  by  a  roar  as  of  a  hundred 
cannon. 

Miss  Severoid  wheeled  dizzily  toward  McClure  as 
the  first  drop  of  rain  splashed  hotly  upon  her  hand. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THROUGH    THE   RAIN 

FLASH  followed  flash,  cleaving  the  gray  darkness  as 
with  darting  blades  of  blue- white  fire.  The  rumbling, 
rolling  rattle  of  the  thunder  tore  the  heavens  asunder 
and  precipitated  the  deluge. 

The  carriers  and  the  hammock  bearers  had  bolted 
when  Cralla  did.  Only  Ilora  remained. 

Even  the  carrier  McClure  had  championed  had 
sneaked  to  his  feet  and  slipped  away,  leaving  his  pack 
behind.  The  others  had  taken  theirs  with  them,  and, 
though  Ilora  knew  where  they  had  gone,  she  remained 
silently  in  the  background  of  events,  apparently  un 
mindful  of  the  rain,  watching  Miss  Severoid  and 
Plymouth  trying  to  lead  McClure  into  some  sort  of 
shelter. 

McClure  was  struggling  to  see. 

There  was  a  band  of  fire  across  his  eyes;  a  red, 
blood-flecked  wale  that  stood  out  in  bold  relief  against 
the  chalk-whiteness  of  his  passion;  and  he  was  like  a 
disturbed  mountain  in  his  pain.  Plymouth's  gorilla- 
like  arms  could  not  hold  him. 

But  the  touch  of  Miss  Severoid's  fingers  halted  with 
magical  effect  his  impotent  desire  to  rush  at  the  spot 
where  he  imagined  Cralla  to  be,  and  produced  a  con 
dition  of  passiveness  that  was  pitiful.  Nothing  was 
distinct,  and  he  had  a  somewhat  terrifying  sensation 
that  if  he  lifted  his  eyelids  his  eyes  would  fall  out — in 
halves ! 

153 


154  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

And  then,  answering  Miss  Severoid's  touch  and 
guided  by  Plymouth's  grip  upon  his  right  arm,  he 
stumbled  blindly  through  the  darkness  and  the  lashing 
rain  in  the  general  direction  in  which  the  carriers  had 
gone. 

Which  was  vague  enough. 

Everything  was  blurred,  and  the  rain,  beating  in 
their  faces,  forced  them  to  bend  their  heads  and  to 
turn  side  wise  so  that  their  shoulders  bore  the  brunt  of 
the  battle;  a  battle  to  which  the  jagged  flashes  of 
lightning  and  the  boom  and  roar  and  rattle  of  nature's 
heavy  artillery  lent  a  fearsome  splash  of  realism. 

No  one  bothered  about  the  pack  the  carrier  had  left 
behind,  or  about  anything  except  to  hope  for  shelter 
somewhere — anywhere.  In  a  few  moments  the  little 
company  looked  as  though  it  had  taken  a  plunge  in  the 
Niger  without  troubling  to  undress. 

After  that  it  was  not  getting  wet  that  mattered  so 
much. 

There  was  the  danger  of  falling  trees ;  of  choosing 
the  wrong  path  among  a  maze  of  paths,  and  of  groping 
their  way  into  one  of  the  many  villages  where,  since 
Cralla  had  gone,  many  unpleasantnesses  awaited  the 
stranger  who  did  not  come  properly  recommended. 

Miss  Severoid  had  a  vague  recollection  that  Cralla 
had  turned  off  the  main  path  to  the  right,  and  that  the 
carriers  had  gone  the  same  way.  But  where  they  had 
gone  after  that  was  shrouded  in  a  dull,  green  mantle 
of  mystery. 

Plymouth  knew  nothing  of  the  country;  and  Mc- 
Clure,  still  blindly  lurching  through  a  darkness  that 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  storm,  did  not  even  know 
that  Cralla  and  the  carriers  had  gone. 

Ilora  followed  at  a  short  distance,  particularly 
watching  McClure's  stumbling  gait,  till  she  saw  him 
place  his  arm  about  Miss  Severoid's  shoulders  and 


THROUGH  THE  RAIN  155 

draw  her  into  such  shelter  as  his  giant  body  afforded. 

McClure  did  that  instinctively — without  thought. 
He  could  not  see;  could  only  feel  the  beating  of  the 
rain  and  hear  the  tearing  crash  of  the  thunder.  The 
small  hands  clinging  to  his  arm  and  helping  to  guide, 
seemed  to  plead  for  protection. 

Ilora's  expression  of  savage  pity  faded  instantly. 
A  cruel  grin  took  its  place,  and  when,  obscured  by  the 
darkness  and  the  rain,  the  branching  path  the  carriers 
had  taken  escaped  even  Plymouth's  sharp  little  eyes, 
the  Jackrie  girl  did  not  correct  the  error.  She  allowed 
them  to  go  on,  and,  stopping  to  look  back,  her  grin 
broadened. 

There  was  not  a  soul  to  see  or  to  hear.  Already,  in 
scarcely  a  minute,  Miss  Severoid,  McClure,  and 
Plymouth,  staggering  wretchedly  in  the  teeth  of  the 
storm,  were  hazy,  ghost-like  figures,  fading  into  the 
gray  wall  of  the  rain. 

The  girl  would  have  given  her  left  arm  for  a  ma 
chete  just  then.  She  needed  her  right.  But  the  best 
she  could  do,  after  a  few  minutes'  searching,  was  a 
stout  mango-stick  with  one  end  shaped  like  a  bludgeon. 

It  might  not  kill,  but  it  would  surely  mutilate ;  and 
mutilation  is  an  instinctive  passion  in  the  savage. 
Ilora  thought  Miss  Severoid's  face  altogether  too 
smooth ;  and  there  was  something  devilish  in  the  man 
ner  in  which  the  girl  crept  after  her  mistress,  gripping 
the  mango-stick  tightly  in  her  firm  and  sure  right 
hand. 

Her  plan  was  simple.  She  knew  that  if  she  could 
eliminate  Plymouth,  she  would  have  little  to  fear  from 
McClure;  and  then,  when  she  had  all  the  amusement 
she  wanted  at  Miss  Severoid's  expense,  she  intended  to 
"find  them"  and  lead  them  to  the  shelter  the  carriers 
had  sought.  One  good  blow  with  the  mango-stick 
would  crush  Miss  Severoid's  helmet  over  her  eyes,  and 


156  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

make  her  quite  as  sightless  as  McClure.  Plymouth 
was  the  only  serious  difficulty. 

The  thunder  and  lightning  and  the  rain  did  not 
bother  her  at  all ;  in  fact,  they  helped,  or  would  when 
the  time  came,  and  though  her  dark-red  overcloth  hung 
to  her  lithe  figure  almost  as  closely  as  her  skin  and 
flopped  awkwardly  about  her  ankles,  impeding  the  free 
movement  of  her  limbs,  these  things  had  no  effect  upon 
her  fiendish  determination,  unless  it  was  to  irritate  her 
and  make  her  more  determined. 

Huddling  into  the  shelter  of  McClure's  arm  and 
gripping  his  soggy  coat  to  preserve  her  balance,  Miss 
Severoid  searched  for  the  path  the  carriers  had  taken. 
She  was  too  miserable  and  too  much  occupied  with 
McClure's  pitiful  plight  to  be  afraid  upon  her  own 
account.  Such  misgivings  as  she  had  were  not  due  to 
the  lurid  and  thunderous  wrath  of  Heaven,  but  to  the 
memory  of  what  she  had  seen  in  Cralla's  face. 

His  expression  had  been  so  horribly  indicative  of  the 
beast  that  lurked  behind  the  mask  of  his  urbanity,  that 
it  did  not  augur  well  for  the  success  of  her  expedition. 
If  he  could  lose  control  of  himself  once,  he  could  do  so 
again ;  possibly  at  a  time  when  something  more  than  a 
rain  storm  threatened  them. 

But  she  kept  her  fears  tightly  locked  up  in  her 
breast,  though  she  sometimes  shuddered  and  clung 
closely  to  McClure  as  she  heard  the  terrifying,  crash 
ing  fall  of  lightning-struck  trees. 

Every  little  while  she  looked  up  through  the  blur 
into  McClure's  face,  and  each  time  pitied  him  a  little 
more,  pleading  with  Providence  for  a  chance  to  help 
him  in  his  helplessness.  His  head  was  down  and  his 
eyes  were  closed,  partly  because  the  rain  stung  them 
calding  water,  and  partly  because  he  could  not 
see  anything  when  he  opened  them. 

"Basanna!"  he  grunted  savagely  to  Plymouth  sev- 


THROUGH  THE  RAIN  157, 

eral  times.  "Down  on  the  right.  Find  it,  you  bush- 
man!  Find  it!" 

And  then  he  would  raise  his  head  and  try  to  find 
it  himself ;  only  to  lower  it  again  as  the  knif elike  pains 
shot  through  his  eyes  and  seemed  to  stab  into  his  brain. 

His  plight  was  something  like  that  of  a  huge  Atlan 
tic  liner  with  her  steering-gear  out  of  commission. 
He  was  as  massive  and  as  strong  as  ever,  but  wholly  at 
the  mercy  of  the  elements  and  of  the  smallest  human 
who  might  seek  to  make  prey  of  him. 

Plymouth  lurched  along,  keeping  a  firm  grip  of  his 
master's  arm,  and  muttering  maledictions  upon  the 
particular  god  of  his  gods  that  was  responsible  for  bad 
weather. 

He  had  no  opinions  to  offer.  When  McClure 
grunted  "Basanna!"  Plymouth  said  "Yessah!  One 
time,  sah!"  in  a  mechanical  fashion  and,  digging  his 
head  and  shoulders  into  the  driving  rain,  blinked 
through  the  mist  in  search  of  the  elusive  path. 

And  when  he  halted  at  the  entrance  to  a  path  that 
shot  off  at  an  angle  of  ninety  degrees  and  which  gave 
promise  of  leading  to  something  definite,  Miss  Sever- 
oid  did  not  know  how  far  they  had  gone.  So  she  did 
not  stop  to  argue  the  matter,  but  held  on  to  McClure, 
and  put  her  fate  into  the  gnarled  black  hands  of  the 
Kroo  boy. 

None  of  them  was  aware  of  the  presence  of  Ilora 
in  the  rear. 

Consequently  they  wheeled  into  the  path  that  led  to 
Sekomi;  that  is,  the  path  would  ultimately  have  led 
them  to  the  native  market  town  of  Sekomi  if  they  had 
followed  it  properly.  Plymouth  tried  to  do  so,  and 
Ilora  came  on  behind,  creeping  very  cautiously  and 
grinning  into  the  teeth  of  the  storm. 

They  went  on,  heads  down,  with  Plymouth  on  the 
right,  playing  the  role  of  guide.  But  before  they  had 


158  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

gone  very  far,  and  hardly  aware  that  he  did  it,  the  boy 
turned  his  feet  into  the  first  path  that  wound  tempt 
ingly  off  the  route  to  Sekomi — to  the  right. 

It  is  a  very  easy  matter  to  travel  in  a  circle  in  the 
Delta  bush,  particularly  when  it  rains;  much  easier  to 
do  so  than  not,  and  Plymouth  succumbed  to  the  temp 
tation  to  "turn  to  the  right"  as  often  as  the  chance 
offered,  until  in  a  very  short  time  he  was  hopelessly 
tangled  and  was  simply  plunging  on,  hoping  that  Mc- 
Clure  would  not  find  it  out. 

And  then,  at  the  junction  of  three  paths,  with  Ba- 
sanna  huddling,  invisible,  behind  an  impenetrable  wall 
of  bush  not  more  than  half  a  mile  away,  Ilora  slipped 
up  behind  Plymouth  and  struck — once,  twice,  thrice — 
with  such  force  that,  had  her  bludgeon  been  a  machete, 
his  unprotected  head  would  probably  have  been  cleft  to 
the  neckband  of  his  singlet. 

As  it  was,  he  staggered,  loosened  his  grip  upon  Mc- 
Clure's  arm  and,  dropping  to  his  knees,  fell  flat  upon 
his  face  in  the  oozy  mud  and  lay  still. 

McClure  heard  the  vicious  hissing  sound  behind 
him;  heard  the  thud  of  the  blows  and  the  Kroo  boy's 
grunt  of  pain  and  surprise;  then  felt  him  slip  away 
from  his  side. 

He  stopped,  straightened,  and  tried  desperately  to 
see ;  and  in  that  second,  having  disposed  of  Plymouth's 
strength  and  sight,  Ilora  struck  with  the  same  vicious 
savagery  at  Miss  Severoid,  who  had  not  had  time  to 
think  of  anything. 

The  blow  crushed  her  helmet  down  over  her  eyes, 
just  as  Ilora  had  supposed  it  would;  made  opalescent 
pin-wheels  whirl  before  her  sight,  and  she  thought  a 
tree  had  fallen.  Sagging  at  the  knees,  clutching  at 
nothingness  for  support,  she  lurched  forward  a  few 
steps  out  of  the  protection  of  McClure's  arms. 

A   triumphant    "A-h~h-h-h!"    came    from    behind. 


THROUGH  THE  RAIN  159 

But  as  Ilora  sprang  forward,  confident  in  the  safety 
of  McClure's  blindness,  her  career  almost  came  to  an 
abrupt  and  wholly  unexpected  end. 

Whirling  about,  maddened  with  rage  and  pain, 
hardly  conscious  of  the  danger  of  it,  McClure  swung 
his  revolver  from  his  hip  in  a  semicircle,  and  fired  with 
desperate  recklessness  into  space. 

The  first  of  the  bullets  singed  Ilora's  crinkly  hair 
just  above  the  ear.  She  was  not  more  than  two  feet 
from  the  weapon  when  it  happened.  The  second  bul 
let  cut  through  the  space  where  her  head  had  been  as 
she  dropped  in  a  heap,  stiff  with  surprise  and  fear. 

She  gaped  up  through  the  rain  at  McClure  as  though 
she  thought  he  was  not  playing  quite  fair,  and  her 
amazement  was  so  complete,  it  was  comical. 

There  were  two  more  shots,  scarcely  audible  above 
the  tumult  of  the  storm,  and  then  the  fifth  missed  fire. 
McClure  kept  the  sixth  for  himself  in  case  he  should 
need  it  and,  still  trying  to  see,  waited  for  the  enemy  to 
rush. 

Ilora  crept  to  her  knees.  The  whites  of  her  eyes 
gleamed  brightly  upon  the  revolver,  and  for  a  second 
or  two  it  was  as  if  she  would  snatch  it  from  McClure's 
grasp.  She  had  been  under  Clavering's  guidance 
long  enough  to  know  how  to  use  one. 

However,  casting  a  hurried,  furtive  glance  into  the 
face  of  the  man  who  had  fought  Clavering  and  beaten 
him — who  was  as  terrible  without  eyes  as  with 
them — and  another  panic-stricken  glance  in  Plym 
outh's  direction,  she  saw  the  Kroo-boy  stir  and  feebly 
attempt  to  rise.  Suddenly  turning  and  running  close 
to  the  ground,  she  wheeled  into  a  branching  west 
bound  path  and  was  gone ;  thereby  proving  her  wisdom 
in  choosing  the  junction  of  several  paths  for  the  rather 
useless  deed  she  had  perpetrated. 

And  she  did  not  come  back  to  "find  them"  and  lead 


160  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

them  to  the  shelter  of  Basanna;  not  because  she  was 
spiteful — she  could  not  afford  to  be  that — but  because, 
just  then,  she  was  as  much  afraid  of  McClure  in  his 
blindness  as  she  was  of  the  punishment  that  Cralla 
would  mete  out  to  her  for  deserting  her  mistress  in  the 
storm. 

She  might  be  able  to  make  excuses  that  would 
mollify  the  chief  in  his  rage;  but  one  can't  argue  or 
plead  with  the  bullets  that  come  from  a  blind  man's 
gun. 

McClure  did  not  hear  her  go.  The  patter  of  the 
rain  was  heavier  than  that  of  Ilora's  naked  feet. 

Plymouth  raised  himself  slowly  and  laboriously 
upon  one  knee,  felt  his  head  inquiringly,  blinked 
through  the  mud  on  his  face,  then  dizzily  staggered  to 
his  feet  and  glanced  about  him. 

He  saw  his  master  standing  stiffly  erect,  revolver  in 
hand,  blindly  waiting  for  the  attack  that  did  not  come, 
and  Miss  Severoid  was  a  hazy  figure  that  swayed  un 
certainly,  clutching  at  the  soggy  rim  of  her  helmet, 
trying  to  free  her  head  from  its  imprisonment. 

She  was  wondering,  not  without  cause,  if  all  the  tree 
had  fallen  yet. 

Plymouth's  expression  of  doubt  was  funny  to  look 
upon,  but  the  rain  did  not  allow  his  senses  to  remain 
numb  very  long,  and  in  a  few  moments  he  was  at  Mc- 
Clure's  side,  gripping  his  sleeve  again  and  whispering 
hoarsely : 

"Be  all  ri*.  No  man  live.  All  man  go.  Mishun 
lady  hurt  li'l  bit,  I  t'ink." 

McClure's  revolver  went  back  into  its  holster  very 
slowly  and  his  left  hand  covered  his  eyes.  They  were 
stinging  as  though  on  fire,  and  he  was  quite  sure  he 
would  never  see  again. 

"All  right.     Go  help  mission  lady.     I'm  all  right." 

Plymouth  obeyed  gingerly.     He  was  a  little  afraid 


THROUGH  THE  RAIN  161 

of  the  beautiful  white  lady,  who,  however,  did  not  look 
very  beautiful  just  then. 

Her  shoes,  once  white,  were  now  a  bluish-gray  and 
spotted  generously  with  mud ;  her  skirt  hung  in  shape 
less,  bedraggled  disorder,  and  her  white  linen  blouse 
was  a  soggy,  starchy  pulp.  The  rain  streamed  down 
her  face  and  dripped  from  her  nose  and  chin,  and  her 
hair  hung  in  straggling,  wet  wisps  over  her  ears.  The 
helmet,  badly  dented  by  Ilora's  blow  and  jammed 
tightly  over  her  ears,  added  the  final  touch  of  pathos 
— or  humor — to  her  unhappy  state. 

But  Plymouth  quickly  relieved  her  of  the  helmet, 
and  as  she  threatened  to  fall  as  a  result  of  the  wrench 
and  the  dizziness  she  had  been  fighting  against  for 
several  minutes,  the  Kroo-boy  held  her  upright  and  led 
her  back  into  the  welcome  support  and  protection  of 
McClure's  arm. 

"What  happened?"  she  whispered,  clinging  to  his 
coat  as  they  moved  hopelessly  on  again. 

"I  don't  know,"  McClure  returned,  trying  to  speak 
as  indifferently  as  possible.  "Somebody  with  a  griev 
ance  to  air,  I  fancy.  Isn't  the  rain  easing  up  a  little  ?" 

"I  think  so.  How  far  have  we  walked?  It  must 
be  miles." 

"Possibly.  I  am  sorry  Plymouth  is  such  a  bush- 
man.  We  must  just  go  on  till  we  strike  something. 
You  are  very  tired,  aren't  you?" 

"N-no.  Not  very.  I  haven't  had  a  chance  to  think 
about  being  tired.  Do  your  eyes  hurt  very  badly?" 

"Not  much.  They'll  be  all  right  in  a  minute  or  two. 
I  think  the  thunder  is  becoming  fainter,  don't  you?" 

"Yes.     I  think  so." 

Which  was  true  enough.  But  the  downpour  con 
tinued  steadily  for  an  hour  after  that,  and  they  wal 
lowed  on  through  the  muddy  clay,  floundering  along 
paths  that  demanded  single  file,  but  which,  because  of 


162  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

McClure's  helplessness,  they  had  to  squeeze  through 
together — always  searching  for  a  sign  of  habitation, 
till  a  sheltering  roof  seemed  to  be  the  rarest  commodity 
in  the  world. 

Then  the  rain  stopped  and  the  darkness  gave  way 
to  the  dazzling  light  of  the  midday  sun.  Bird  and 
beast,  and  all  things  that  crawled  or  flew,  came  to  life 
again  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  riot  of  discordant 
sounds.  Miss  Severoid  quickly  saw  more  snakes  than 
she  cared  to  count. 

Though  the  sun's  heat  helped  to  dry  her  clothing, 
it  also  made  her  very  thirsty ;  and  after  being  buffeted 
about  by  the  rain  and  made  dizzy  by  Ilora's  blow,  she 
was  not  in  the  fittest  condition  to  combat  the  humidity 
that  followed. 

Her  throat  and  tongue  were  ready  to  crack  and  her 
feet  burned  and  blistered  till  she  limped  a  little. 
There  was  a  dully  persistent  pain  at  the  back  of  her 
head,  and  she  felt  uncomfortably  drowsy  and  chilly, 
too,  in  spite  of  the  intense  heat. 

She  would  have  given  much  to  have  been  able  to 
sit  down.  But  there  was  nowhere  to  sit;  nothing  to 
do  but  to  go  on  and  on,  endlessly  it  seemed,  over 
lumpy,  ribbonlike  paths  that  made  her  wince  at  every 
step  and  tore  her  clothing  and  her  optimism  to  shreds 
at  the  same  time. 

They  met  no  one.  At  that  time  of  the  day — one 
o'clock — the  Beni  does  not  walk  abroad  any  more  than 
he  can  help.  He  sleeps. 

Stumbling  along  with  a  wet  handkerchief  over  his 
eyes,  McClure  could  feel  Miss  Severoid  limp.  The 
little  lurch  she  gave  at  every  step  became  more  and 
more  pronounced,  till  at  last  he  stopped. 

"Why,  what's  wrong?"  she  asked  at  once,  standing 
on  one  foot  and  leaning  heavily  against  him;  while 
Plymouth,  whose  only  anxiety  seemed  to  be  the  lumps 


THROUGH  THE  RAIN  163 

Ilora's  mango  stick  had  raised  on  his  head,  also  halted 
and  looked  inquiringly  up  into  his  master's  face. 

"You  are  tired,"  McClure  declared  very  deliber 
ately.  "And  you  are  limping  worse  and  worse  every 
minute.  I  am  going  to  carry  you." 

"Carry  me !"     Miss  Severoid  laughed  oddly. 

"Exactly."  He  stooped  a  little.  "You  are  not 
very  heavy;  but  don't  make  yourself  heavier  by  resist 
ing.  Put  your  arm  round  my  neck." 

Miss  Severoid's  smile  was  wan  and  undecided.  She 
felt  queer — chilly,  and  half  inclined  to  go  to  sleep 
where  she  stood. 

"B-but  you  can't  see !"  she  protested.     "And — " 

"Plymouth  can,"  McClure  retorted  tersely,  and  in 
a  second  had  lifted  her  in  his  arms  with  an  ease 
and  swiftness  that  was  as  surprising  as  it  was  com 
fortable. 

"Oh— pi-please!     I—" 

"Go  on,  Plymouth." 

Plymouth  obeyed  without  a  comment  of  any  sort. 
He  did  not  even  grin,  and  as  Miss  Severoid's  arm 
crept  round  McClure's  neck,  silence  reigned  again. 

They  plodded  on,  groping  in  a  maze  that  seemed  to 
have  no  beginning  or  end,  time  and  again  wheeling  to 
the  right. 

Miss  Severoid's  sensations  were  mixed.  The  com 
fort  and  strength  and  safety  of  McClure's  arms  were 
intimate  factors  of  her  immediate  existence  that  made 
her  forget  the  majority  of  her  minor  miseries — all  of 
them,  in  fact,  but  the  dull  pain  in  the  back  of  her  head 
and  the  queer  chills  that  attacked  her  spine. 

Her  head  slipped  down  upon  McClure's  shoulder, 
and  in  the  heavier  drowsiness  that  was  creeping  over 
her  she  had  vague  thoughts  of  love  and  malaria  and 
Clavering  and  Benin  City,  all  of  which  were  hopelessly 
mixed  and  unintelligible. 


164  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

But  her  arm  tightened  its  grip  about  McClure's 
neck,  and,  having  very  little  understanding  of  what 
she  did,  she  clung  to  him  in  a  manner  that  made  him 
gasp  and  wonder  and  pray  silently  to  be  able  to  see  her 
face. 

Then,  as  Plymouth  swung  hopefully  into  a  broader 
path  than  any  they  had  yet  encountered,  a  violent  chill 
seized  Miss  Severoid,  and,  quivering  from  head  to 
foot,  her  teeth  chattered  quite  audibly. 

McClure  halted. 

"Chilly  ?"  he  asked,  trying  to  conceal  his  anxiety. 

And  Miss  Severoid  heard  him  as  though  his  voice 
came  to  her  from  a  great  distance  out  of  a  very  black 
night.  v 

"N-no — just  a  little.  I'll  be — all — right — soon," 
she  whispered  as  she  drifted,  chalky  white  and  blue  of 
lip,  into  a  welcome  oblivion. 

McClure  stood  quite  still.  He  could  not  see,  but  he 
could  feel  her  added  weight,  and  he  suffered  the  tor 
ment  of  the  damned  in  the  silence  that  followed. 

Then  Plymouth  was  clutching  his  arm  excitedly  and 
saying  hoarsely : 

"White  man  live,  sah !  I  look  him !  T'ree  minute 
pass,  we  go  catch  him !" 

Which  was  true. 

About  a  hundred  yards  along  the  path  a  gentleman 
in  immaculate  white  flannels,  a  dark  red  cummerbund 
and  a  turbaned  helmet,  stood  beside  a  bundle  of  some 
sort,  prodding  it  in  lazy  inquiry  with  the  toe  of  a  spot 
less  white  buckskin  boot. 

The  gentleman's  name  was  Clavering. 

And  the  bundle  was  the  pack  Cralla's  luckless  car 
rier  had  left  behind. 

Plymouth  had  completed  the  circle. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

DISCIPLINE 

CLAVERING  was  studying  the  pack  as  though  he  did 
not  care  very  much  whether  its  presence  there  was 
explained  or  not.  But  as  he  flicked  a  few  specks  of 
cigarette  ash  from  the  lapel  of  his  coat  he  raised  his 
head  and  saw  the  strange  little  company  that  came 
slowly  toward  him. 

The  languid  air  left  him  instantly.  For  once  in  his 
life,  at  least,  he  was  evidently  at  a  loss  to  know  how  to 
meet  the  situation.  There  was  a  trace  of  anxiety  in 
his  face,  too ;  an  anxiety  that  made  him  go  forward  to 
meet  McClure,  who,  because  his  limp  burden  occupied 
all  the  attention  of  his  arms,  could  not  indulge  a  very 
natural  inclination  to  tear  the  handkerchief  from  his 
eyes  so  that  he  might  learn,  if  he  could,  the  identity  of 
the  white  man  to  whom  Plymouth  had  referred. 

Though  the  Kroo-boy  had  heard  about  Clavering, 
he  had  never  seen  him;  and  when  the  outlaw  halted  a 
few  paces  away  to  take  stock  of  the  sightless  McClure 
and  to  glance  anxiously  into  Miss  Severoid's  face, 
Plymouth  shuffled  to  a  stop  and  eyed  the  stranger 
hopefully. 

Clavering  waited  a  second  or  two. 

"What's  the  trouble  ?"  McClure  growled.  "What 
are  you  stopping  for  ?  Where's  the  white  man  ?  Hol 
ler,  you  bushman !  Holler !" 

"No  need,  Mac,"  Clavering  interposed  in  a  low  voice, 
and  saw  McClure  straighten  sharply  and  take  a  firmer 
hold  upon  Miss  Severoid's  sagging  weight.  "Can 
you  manage  as  far  as  Basanna  ?  It's  almost  a  mile  " 

165 


i66  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

McClure  grunted  derisively,  though  his  arms  were 
numbed  to  a  sensation  of  brittleness  and  felt  as  if  they 
would  snap  at  any  moment.  Having  recognized  Clav- 
ering's  smooth  voice  at  once,  the  incongruity  of  the 
situation  was  not  lost  upon  him. 

"Thanks.     Go  on.     I'll  manage." 

The  cigarette  between  Clavering's  lips  drooped  a 
little,  and  the  indifferent  smile  he  essayed  was  not  a 
success. 

With  a  very  terse  "All  right,"  and  no  more  than 
that,  he  turned  abruptly  and  led  the  wanderers  toward 
Basanna. 

Walking  upon  McClure's  left,  his  gaze  became  fixed 
upon  the  dent  in  Miss  Severoid's  helmet,  and  he  exam 
ined  it  as  though  he  were  trying  to  connect  it  in  some 
way  with  the  pallor  of  her  cheeks. 

"What  happened  to  your  eyes,  Mac?"  he  asked 
casually,  when  they  had  gone  about  fifty  yards.  "Sun 
hit  them  ?" 

McClure  kept  on  as  though  he  had  not  heard.  Con 
sidering  that  both  he  and  Miss  Severoid  were  hope 
lessly  at  the  mercy  of  any  devilment  that  Clavering 
chose  to  conceive,  and  remembering  a  vivid  occasion 
on  which  he  had  held  the  outlaw's  neck  in  jeopardy, 
the  latter's  magnanimous  attitude  was  rather  difficult 
to  understand. 

"I'll  talk  later,"  the  trader  answered  shortly.  "I 
need  all  the  breath  I've  got  just  now." 

Clavering's  eyes  did  not  leave  Miss  Severoid's  face, 
not  even  when  he  forced  himself  to  laugh  at  McClure's 
dogged  candor,  nor  when  the  patter  of  running  feet 
heralded  the  approach  of  Ilora  from  the  direction  of 
Basanna. 

She  was  running  toward  them,  evidently  very 
anxious  about  the  health  of  her  mistress. 

"Be  Miss  Sev'roi'  maid,  sah,"  Plymouth  announced 


DISCIPLINE  167 

hopefully,  and  Clavering,  looking  up,  shouted  at  the 
girl  in  Jackrie,  so  that  she  stopped  and  instantly  sped 
back  the  way  she  had  come. 

Clavering  continued  to  examine  the  dent  in  Miss 
Severoid's  helmet.  His  brows  were  knitted  in  a 
thoughtful  frown,  and  his  glance,  lifting  lazily,  he 
looked  straight  ahead  in  the  direction  in  which  Ilora 
had  gone. 

There  was  nothing  definite  in  that  look.  He  was 
thinking  only  of  the  fact  that  Ilora  had  deserted  her 
mistress  and  had  thereby  given  McClure  the  oppor 
tunity  to  play  the  role  of  hero. 

But  his  fingers  twitched  nervously  and  suggestively, 
his  face  assumed  a  graying  hue,  and  the  smile  upon  his 
lips  did  not  belong  to  earth  or  heaven. 

In  a  remarkably  short  space  of  time — just  as  they 
had  squeezed  their  way  into  the  bush  path  leading  to 
Basanna — Ilora  came  racing  back  to  meet  them,  fol 
lowed  by  the  hammock-bearers;  and  McClure  being 
satisfied  that  everything  was  all  right,  relinquished 
Miss  Severoid  into  their  care. 

A  few  short,  sharp  words  from  Clavering  sent  Ilora 
and  the  hammock-bearers  on  ahead,  and  ere  McClure 
had  reached  the  haven  of  a  comparatively  cool  and  dark 
hut,  Miss  Severoid  was  in  bed — McClure's  camp  bed 
this  time — struggling  back  to  consciousness  with  the 
assistance  of  Ilora  and  a  wizened  old  mammy  who  did 
not  know  a  thermometer  from  a  quinin  pill,  but  who 
knew  how  to  do  as  she  was  told. 

Clavering  hung  back  in  the  shadows,  giving  soft- 
voiced  instructions,  and  there  were  no  interruptions  or 
intrusions  of  any  kind.  No  one  came  to  the  door 
inquisitively  to  discover  what  was  going  on;  not  even 
Chief  Mora  himself.  The  chief  of  Basanna  knew 
Clavering's  displeasure  too  well  for  that. 

There  was  no  sign  of  Cralla.     His  boys  were  hud- 


i68  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

died  in  a  shady  corner  of  Mora's  compound,  most  of 
them  fast  asleep,  while  the  rest  lolled  about,  happy  in 
the  knowledge  that  they  would  not  have  to  work  until 
the  "white  mammy"  got  well  again. 

No  one  could  have  said  that  the  Beni  village  of 
Basanna  was  other  than  abominably  filthy.  And  it 
smelled  vilely.  All  Beni  villages  do. 

A  Beni  never  washes  anything — himself  included. 
For  the  greater  part,  he  is  a  lazy,  dirty,  treacherous 
beast ;  a  disgusting,  disease-ridden  spawn  of  barbarity, 
with  a  gluttonous  passion  for  the  sight  of  other  men's 
blood.  He  eats,  sleeps,  and  crawls  through  his  miser 
able  life  to  a  grave  in  an  open  ditch. 

His  chiefs  are  as  gods ;  and  though  Chief  Mora  was 
a  pretty  miserable  sort  of  god — being  a  shrunken,  sniv 
eling,  parasitic  old  sinner  who  lived  in  hourly  terror  of 
the  death  that  was  crawling  up  on  to  his  shoulders  and 
clutching  him  about  the  throat,  and  who  would  sell  his 
brother  for  a  bottle  of  gin — yet  his  people  bowed  their 
necks  under  his  yoke  just  as  submissively  as  though  he 
were  as  big  and  powerful  and  as  terrible  as  the  great 
Daka  of  Benin  City. 

Consequently,  because  Mora's  fear  of  Clavering  de 
scended  to  his  people,  Basanna  was  very  quiet,  and  the 
hut  in  which  Miss  Severoid  lay  was  sacred  ground. 

McClure's  was  next  door.  There  were  but  a  few 
yards  of  space  between  them,  but  whereas  McClure's 
hut  was  a  small  one,  Miss  Severoid's  was  large  enough 
to  be  converted  into  two  rooms  with  the  assistance  of 
native  mats  strung  together  and  hung  from  the  ceiling. 

The  camp  bed  had  been  erected  in  the  inner  room, 
and  some  mats  were  strewn  upon  the  earthen  floor. 
Two  camp-chairs  had  been  carried  in  and  a  medicine- 
chest  lay  upon  one  of  them. 

Clavering  remained  in  the  shadows,  watching  Ilora's 
ministrations  with  a  hawklike  eye.  And  she  knew  he 


DISCIPLINE  169 

was  watching  her.  Her  movements  were  nervous  and 
her  knees  trembled. 

That  Clavering  had  not  asked  her  why  she  had  de 
serted  her  mistress  was  an  ominous  circumstance;  so 
ominous  that  Ilora  began  to  doubt  the  possible  effec 
tiveness  of  the  plausible  excuse  she  had  invented. 
Her  mind  scurried  frantically  about  for  another,  seized 
upon  several,  and  jumbled  them  up  in  chaotic  confu 
sion. 

Miss  Severoid's  eyes  opened  wearily.  There  was 
no  life  or  understanding  in  them. 

"It's  no  use,"  she  murmured  sadly  at  no  one  in  par 
ticular,  with  the  gray  film  over  her  senses  and  vision 
not  yet  lifted.  "You  can't  carry  me — like  this — for 
ever.  And  my  head  is  wabbling  so." 

Her  dull  gold  head  rolled  restlessly  on  the  pillows. 

"And  your  eyes  are  hurting  you,  too.  Please  let 
me  down  and — I'll — try — to  walk." 

The  whispering  voice  died  away  in  a  low,  restless 
moan.  Over  Clavering's  cheek-bones  the  skin  was 
drawn  tight  as  a  drum,  and  his  head  craned  forward  a 
little.  Ilora  and  the  aged  mammy  stood  together  at 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  the  beady  eyes  of  the  old 
woman  were  fixed  upon  the  patient.  But  Ilora  was 
watching  Clavering. 

An  eternity  seemed  to  pass  before  Miss  Severoid's 
voice  came  again  in  husky  appeal. 

"Why  don't  you  let  me  down  ?  Your  arms  must  be 
breaking  and  your  poor  eyes — they  hurt  terribly,  don't 
they  ?"  A  pause.  "I  do  wish  my  head  wouldn't  wab 
ble  so.  I  think  my  helmet's  crooked,  and  I'm  afraid 
of  the  sun."  Another  pause.  "Do  you  really  think 
it  was  a  man  who  hit  me  so  hard  ?  I  thought  it  was  a 
tree  falling.  If  I  hadn't  had  on  my  helmet  I'd  have 
been  killed,  and  that  would  be  mean,  wouldn't  it,  after 
coming  so  far?"  A  pitiful  little  smile  curved  her 


170  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

pallid  lips,  and  she  looked  straight  into  the  shadows  at 
Clavering,  but  with  a  blank  stare  that  told  him  she  did 
not  see.  "But  I'm  a  baby  to  bother  you  like  this. 
You've  been  so  good  to  me — so  patient  and  trustful 
and — and — oh,  I  wonder  what  you'll  think  when  you 
know?" 

Her  arms  struggled  from  beneath  the  covers  as 
though  she  might  be  trying  to  wriggle  out  of  Mc- 
Clure's  grasp,  and,  raising  her  head  a  little,  she  fought 
desperately  for  a  few  minutes  till,  the  gray  film  lifting 
all  at  once,  she  started  up,  to  look  wildly  about  her,  try 
ing  to  understand. 

"Wh-whereishe?" 

Not  "Where  am  I?"  but  "Where  is  he?" 

Clavering  winced  and  shut  his  teeth  very  tightly. 
But  as  he  tiptoed  into  the  light  and  toward  the  bedside 
his  face  betrayed  nothing  more  than  a  welcoming  smile 
that  tried  to  be  an  assurance  of  good  faith. 

"He  is  next  door  doctoring  his  eyes,"  he  said  gently. 
"And  you  are  in  Basanna  and  in  good  hands.  But  I 
think  you'd  better  lie  down  again  and  put  your  arms 
under  the  covers  or  you  may  get  chilled." 

And  as  Miss  Severoid  stared  at  him  in  blank  aston 
ishment  and  not  a  little  fear  and  confusion,  he  turned 
to  Ilora,  muttering  a  low  order  in  Jackrie  which  made 
the  girl  approach  the  bed  instantly  and  tuck  the  covers 
tightly  about  the  patient  so  that  they  hugged  her  chin. 

Then  the  girl,  with  a  furtive  glance  at  Clavering, 
shuffled  into  the  background  again,  while  the  wizened 
old  mammy,  mumbling  to  herself  and  grinning  mean- 
inglessly,  watched  the  outlaw  bend  over  the  medicine- 
chest 

He  was  passionless,  to  all  appearances,  as  a  knife 
blade.  Producing  a  clinical  thermometer  he  jerked 
the  mercury  down  to  normal. 

The  shock  of  seeing  him  again  so  suddenly  had 


DISCIPLINE  171 

cleared  Miss  Severoid's  head  as  quickly  as  a  cold 
douche  might  have  done.  The  dark-red  cummerbund 
about  his  waist  held  her  attention  like  a  magnet.  The 
expression  upon  her  face  was  that  of  a  child  groping 
fearfully,  yet  hopefully,  out  of  a  goblin-filled  dream 
to  the  dawn  of  another  day. 

"Hold  this  under  your  tongue  a  minute,"  she  heard 
Clavering  say,  and  he  loomed  over  her  very  suddenly. 
"I  am  not  much  of  a  doctor,  but  I  think  I  can  read  one 
of  these  things." 

Miss  Severoid  smiled  and  obediently  closed  her  lips 
upon  the  thermometer.  Yet  she  had  never  been  so 
much  afraid  of  anything  as  she  was  of  Clavering  just 
then.  The  power  of  his  personality  seemed  to  com 
bat  her  efforts  to  get  a  firm  mental  grip  upon  her 
situation,  and  to  feel  herself  slipping  into  a  sort  of 
trancelike  submission  to  his  will  was,  under  the  cir 
cumstances,  a  terrifying  sensation. 

In  the  minute  or  two  of  silence  that  followed  she 
could  hear  the  village  awakening  from  its  sweltering 
mid-day  slumbers,  but  the  sounds  were  subdued  as 
though  the  order  to  talk  in  whispers  had  gone  abroad. 
Clavering  strolled  to  the  doorway,  looked  out  for  a 
little  while,  then  returned.  His  glance  fell  upon  Ilora 
for  a  second  and  her  flesh  shivered  away  from  it  as 
from  a  lash. 

"Please,"  he  said  gently  to  Miss  Severoid,  and  his 
hand  went  out  for  the  thermometer  which  her  lips  re 
leased  at  once.  "I  don't  think  you  are  so  bad  as  I 
thought  at  first." 

In  a  moment,  however,  he  learned  that  her  tempera 
ture  was  a  fraction  above  104  degrees.  But  his  face 
did  not  show  it.  He  smiled  with  an  "I  told  you  so" 
air  and  said  lightly : 

"Oh,  that  isn't  bad.  Does  your  head  hurt  very 
much?" 


i;2  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"N-no — not  very.     It  feels — swimmy." 

"Any  sharp,  stabbing  sort  of  pains  at  the  nape  of 
the  neck?"  Clavering  was  thinking  of  the  dented  hel 
met  and  the  sun. 

"No,  just  a  dull,  miserable  sort  of  ache,  and — and 
I'm  cold — then  very  warm — like  influenza,  only  worse. 
What's  my  temperature?" 

"A  fraction  over  a  hundred,"  Clavering  lied  easily. 
"But  you've  got  to  be  very  quiet  and  take  all  the  pow 
ders  and  things  we  give  you." 

He  smiled  again,  and,  turning  to  Ilora  and  her 
wizened  assistant,  rattled  off  several  orders  in  Jackrie 
which  they  hastened  to  obey  with  all  possible  speed — 
particularly  Ilora,  who  was  chilled  to  the  marrow  of 
her  bones  by  the  promise  of  what  was  to  come. 

Clavering  busied  himself,  too,  measuring  out  phe- 
nacetin  powders  with  the  accuracy  of  a  chemist,  and 
Miss  Severoid,  shivering  convulsively  and  biting  her 
lips,  watched  him  and  wondered  if  the  thoughts  and 
fancies  that  were  surging  through  her  mind  were  not 
more  fever  than  fact. 

And  then  the  drowsiness  came  to  her  again.  She 
had  a  dim  understanding  of  drinking  something  very 
hot  and  sour,  and  of  falling  back  upon  the  pillows 
exhausted  with  the  effort.  The  hazy  figure  of  Claver 
ing,  seated  on  a  camp  chair  beside  the  bed,  seemed  to 
follow  her  into  the  gloom — his  burning  black  eyes 
and  gleaming  teeth  particularly — and  she  saw  him  in 
a  hundred  guises  as  she  tossed  restlessly  in  semicon- 
sciousness  beneath  the  sweltering  pack  of  blankets. 

McClure  did  not  appear  in  any  of  the  pictures.  He 
had  drifted  into  the  background  behind  Clavering's 
dominating  personality  which  dwarfed  all  other  things. 
But  the  outlaw,  watching  Miss  Severoid's  forehead  for 
the  first  sign  of  perspiration,  could  not  be  expected  to 
know  that.  Consequently  his  expression  was  rather 


DISCIPLINE  173 

hard,  more  particularly  when  he  turned  his  head  to 
glance  at  Ilora  who  lay  upon  a  mat  immediately  under 
the  square  hole  in  the  wall  that  served  for  a  window. 

Each  time  he  looked  in  her  direction  he  found  her 
watching  him,  and  each  time  their  eyes  met  the  girl 
would  shrink  and  her  body  would  creep  shudderingly 
away  from  the  promise  in  his. 

Then  he  rose  very  quietly,  went  over  to  Miss  Sever- 
oid's  small  uniform  case  and,  picking  up  the  battered 
helmet  which  lay  on  top,  returned  to  his  chair  by  the 
bed,  passing  the  tips  of  his  fingers  over  the  patient's 
forehead  as  he  did  so.  It  was  still  hot  and  dry. 

Clavering's  lips  twitched  a  little,  and  he  held  the 
helmet  in  his  hands  between  his  knees,  staring  fixedly 
at  the  jagged  dent  in  it  as  though  he  were  trying  to 
read  the  story  it  told. 

Then  his  glance  shot  toward  Ilora  again  suddenly. 

"No  be  me !"  she  whimpered  instantly,  the  denial  of 
her  guilt  forced  from  her  in  the  belief  that  Clavering 
was  connecting  her  in  some  way  with  the  dent  in  the 
helmet.  "No  be  me !  Be  'nother  man.  Be — " 

She  stopped — instantly  aware  of  the  fact  that  she 
had  made  a  mistake,  and  the  glistening  ebony  of  her 
cheeks  became  the  color  of  dirty  gray  ashes. 

Clavering  did  not  speak  nor  move.  But  his  face 
was  no  longer  the  face  of  a  man,  but  of  a  pale-yellow 
fiend  whose  eyes  blazed  like  living  coals  and  whose 
lips  were  drawn  back  from  his  teeth  in  a  hideous, 
wolfish  grin. 

And  Ilora,  shrinking  yet  obedient  to  the  command 
in  his  glance,  writhed  and  twisted  her  way  across  the 
floor  to  his  feet,  where  she  lay  shivering  like  a  whipped 
puppy  looking  up  at  him  in  terrorized  appeal. 

There  was  a  long  and  painful  silence. 

Clavering  was  shaking  perceptibly  with  the  violence 
of  his  inhuman  passion,  but  it  was  evident  after  a 


174  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

minute  or  two  that  he  was  victorious  in  the  struggle 
to  master  it.  The  ghastly  grin  faded  slowly,  and  then 
the  death-light  in  his  eyes  flickered  for  a  little  while 
and  went  out. 

Stretching  forth  a  hand  that  visibly  trembled  he 
again  passed  the  tips  of  his  fingers  over  Miss  Sever- 
oid's  forehead  and  found  it  slightly  moist.  His  fingers 
lingered  for  a  moment  or  two,  and  the  touch  seemed 
to  steady  him  and  bring  about  a  cold,  emotionless 
calm. 

When  he  looked  down  at  Ilora  again  there  was  not 
a  particle  of  feeling  in  his  face. 

"This  time — be  flog  palaver.     Next  time — " 

Ilora  understood  perfectly,  and  she  threw  her  arms 
about  his  knees  and  paid  homage  to  the  soles  of  his 
shoes,  groveling  at  his  feet  in  savage  ecstasy  at  her 
escape  from  the  death  of  a  bush-dog. 

"Cralla  come — to-night,"  Clavering  said,  thrusting 
her  from  him  with  an  unceremonious  toe.  "Bring  the 
quinin." 

He  was  himself  again. 

All  afternoon,  attended  by  the  tireless  Plymouth, 
McClure  lay  upon  mats  in  the  darkest  corner  of  his 
hut,  silently  praying  for  the  power  to  see. 

There  were  wet  bandages  over  his  swollen,  blood 
shot  eyes,  and  the  darting  pains  had  been  alleviated  a 
little:  but  he  was  sure  that  both  pupils  had  been  irre 
trievably  damaged. 

A  man  may  lose  a  limb  and  laugh;  but  threaten  his 
eyesight  and  he  will  probably  whine. 

.McClure  did  not  whine,  partly  because  he  was  not 
built  that  way,  but  greatly  because  he  did  not  wish  to 
give  Clavering  the  satisfaction  of  hearing  him.  So  he 
bit  upon  his  pains  and  his  dread  and  spent  most  of  his 
time  wondering  what  the  upshot  of  it  all  would  be. 


DISCIPLINE  175 

Plymouth  told  him  where  Miss  Severoid  was  lodged, 
how  she  was  being  cared  for,  and  that  she  had  a  touch 
of  malaria  but  was  speedily  reducing  her  temperature 
in  copious  perspiration. 

Clavering  came  in  about  five  in  the  afternoon  and, 
confirming  Plymouth's  bulletins,  asked  with  some  con 
cern : 

"How  are  the  eyes,  Mac?     Any  better?" 

McClure  writhed.  His  was  not  a  pleasant  situa 
tion.  Clavering' s  magnanimity  had  an  edge  like  a 
razor-blade. 

"Thanks.     A  little  better." 

"Good.  Miss  Severoid  won't  be  ready  to  move  for 
two  or  three  days,  so  you'll  have  plenty  of  time  to  get 
into  shape.  I've  just  had  a  talk  with  Cralla,  and  he 
told  me  all  about  it.  He's  very  apologetic  and  very 
much  scared  that  you'll  fill  him  full  of  lead  when  you 
can  see  to  do  it.  So  I've  sent  him  on  ahead  to  keep 
him  out  of  harm  and  to  pave  the  way  a  bit.  He'll 
meet  you  at  Mayona  again,  and  you'll  need  him,  you 
know,  however  much  you  may  want  to  strip  the  hide 
off  him.  So  you'd  better  hold  back  the  eye-for-an-eye 
part  of  the  program  till  his  usefulness  is  past.  Then 
you  can  do  as  you  please." 

McClure  made  no  reply.  Clavering's  tone  was  too 
friendly  and  too  altogether  matter-of-fact  to  be  the 
true  expression  of  his  feelings ;  and  had  McClure  been 
aware  of  the  truth  that  the  outlaw  had  just  come  from 
Miss  Severoid's  hut — that  he  had  been  there  all  after 
noon — and  that  Cralla  had  not  been  seen  in  Basanna 
since  the  rain  began,  the  trader  would  have  had  still 
more  cause  to  question  Clavering's  sincerity. 

Of  Miss  Severoid's  intentions,  or  of  the  object  of 
the  expedition,  nothing  was  said.  Clavering  stayed 
only  a  few  minutes  and  departed,  expressing  the  hope 
that  McClure's  eyes  would  very  soon  be  all  right  again, 


176  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

so  that  he  could  see  for  himself  "how  well  Miss  Sever- 
oid  is  being  cared  for." 

The  trader  did  not  reply  to  the  final  thrust ;  but  his 
jaws  bulged  perceptibly,  and  Clavering  went  out — 
smiling. 

When  darkness  came  McClure,  for  his  eyes'  sake, 
welcomed  it. 

But  Ilora  didn't. 

Late  that  night,  while  Miss  Severoid  slept  and  the 
wizened  old  mammy  lay  on  a  mat  near  the  bed,  peer 
ing  at  her  patient  in  the  dim  light  of  a  small  oil  lamp, 
Chief  Cralla  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

Clavering  had  gone  over  to  Mora's  hut  an  hour 
before. 

There  was  a  hippo-hide  thong  coiled  about  the 
chief's  right  hand,  and  in  his  face  there  was  a  hint  of 
the  fact  that  he  was  going  to  enjoy  himself. 

"Ilora,  wall!" 

The  girl's  flesh  quivered  at  the  sound,  but  she  shuf 
fled  obediently  to  her  feet  and  went  quietly  out  at  the 
chief's  heels  into  the  darkness. 

And  presently  there  came  to  McClure's  waking  ears 
the  sound  of  low,  whining  moans ;  no  more  than  that, 
though  a  hippo-thong  cuts  like  a  knife. 

Cralla  was  enjoying  himself. 

Then  some  time  later  Ilora  crawled  to  her  mat  on 
the  floor  of  Miss  Severoid's  hut  and  lay  flat  upon  her 
face.  Her  back  was  raw. 

The  wizened  old  mammy  saw  her  there,  twisting 
silently  in  her  pain,  but  she  merely  shrugged  her 
shrunken  shoulders  and  rolled  over  into  a  dreamless 
sleep.  It  was  none  of  her  business. 

Clavering  had  to  have  discipline.  And  Cralla  did 
the  dirty  work. 


CHAPTER  XX 

AN    INTRUSION 

THE  following  morning,  as  one  wet  bandage  was 
giving  way  to  another,  McClure  found  that  he  could 
keep  his  eyelids  open  long  enough  to  see — just  a  little. 
But  it  was  in  the  late  afternoon  of  the  fourth  day  be 
fore  he  had  the  courage,  even  with  the  aid  of  a  palm 
leaf  shaped  into  an  eye-shade,  to  dare  the  light  again. 

In  the  interval  Clavering  had  been  an  ideal  host. 

To  Miss  Severoid  he  had  been  courteous  and  gentle 
in  the  extreme.  If  young  Debenham's  exact  relation 
ship  to  her  bothered  him  at  all,  he  asked  no  questions 
about  it;  nor  when  she  was  convalescent  did  he  take 
advantage  of  the  situation  to  annoy  her  with  such 
attentions  as,  in  Segwanga,  he  had  risked  his  neck  to 
thrust  upon  her. 

Miss  Severoid  was  not  sure  whether  his  restraint 
and  his  somewhat  Chesterfieldian  attitude  was  a  pose 
or  a  reformation,  but  sometimes,  when  he  looked  at 
her,  she  thought  she  could  hear  his  eyes  say: 

"You  are  in  the  cup  of  my  hand.  I  can  do  as  I 
please.  But — that  will  come  later." 

Which,  naturally  enough,  made  her  very  dubious 
about  the  future,  and  made  her  feel,  still  more  keenly, 
the  need  of  McClure's  protection. 

So  far  as  the  trader  was  concerned,  Clavering  had 
not  shown  a  trace  of  animosity ;  in  fact,  had  not  trou 
bled  him  at  all,  except  to  look  into  his  hut  each  morn 
ing  to  ask  cheerily  and  thoughtfully  about  his  eyes, 

177 


178  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

which  made  McClure's  temper  about  as  smooth  as  a 
rasp. 

Basanna  had  remained  as  peaceful  as  an  English  vil 
lage  in  the  dog-days;  and  nothing  could  have  proved 
Clavering's  peculiar  power  more  than  the  manner  in 
which  Chief  Mora  and  his  people  refrained  from 
intruding  upon  the  privacy  of  the  village's  guests. 
McClure,  who  understood  these  things,  marveled  and 
ruminated  very  dubiously  at  the  same  time. 

That  Clavering  had  a  plan  of  some  sort  in  mind  the 
trader  did  not  doubt  for  a  moment;  and  he  was  quite 
convinced  that  it  was  not  a  pretty  one.  There  was 
some  particularly  refined  deviltry  behind  it  all — some 
thing  that  would  make  the  hospitality  of  Basanna  a 
sardonic  mockery. 

However,  McClure  was  grateful  for  the  opportunity 
given  him  to  regain  his  sight,  and  when,  even  with  the 
improvised  eye-shade,  he  could  look  along  the  glitter 
ing  barrel  of  his  .45  caliber  and  perforate  the  thick 
green  hide  of  a  coconut  at  a  little  over  a  hundred  yards, 
he  felt  that  there  was  a  fighting  chance  left  to  him. 

Miss  Severoid  was  actually  responsible  for  the 
shooting. 

Still  a  trifle  weak  and  shaky,  yet  laughingly  leading 
McClure  from  .his  hut  to  dare  the  late  afternoon  sun 
shine,  she  jested  at  his  natural  timidity  in  the  face  of 
the  light,  and  the  trader,  declaring  that  he  was  "all 
right,"  and  boasting  wildly  that  he  could  see  well 
enough  to  hit  the  coconut  in  question — proved  it ! 

Which  startled  himself  and  Miss  Severoid  consid 
erably,  made  several  half-naked  Benis  jump  and  gasp 
with  awe,  and  brought  Clavering  to  the  door  of  Mora's 
hut  with  an  oath  upon  his  lips. 

Plymouth,  who  stood  behind  McClure,  grinned  the 
width  of  his  face,  and  Ilora,  in  the  shadows  of  Miss 
Severoid's  doorway,  drew  a  long  breath  of  savage  joy, 


AN  INTRUSION  179 

straightened  her  stiff  and  aching  back  and  mumbled 
that  her  gods  were  good.  In  her  own  way  she  loved 
the  gigantic  trader,  greatly  because  he  showed  no  fear 
of  Clavering;  and  she  was  convinced  that  the  speckled 
lizard  she  had  held  captive  outside  McClure's  door  was 
responsible  for  his  recovery. 

"He  is  just  testing  his  eyesight,"  Miss  Severoid 
called  to  Clavering,  with  a  little  shake  in  her  voice 
that  was  also  present  in  her  knees  as  the  ordeal  of 
having  to  face  Clavering  and  McClure  together  seemed 
to  threaten. 

"All  right.  I'll  forgive  him/'  the  outlaw  returned, 
smiling  pleasantly,  but  with  his  eyes  carefully  fixed 
upon  the  trader's  smoking  revolver.  "Better  put  it 
away,  Mac.  Sounds  like  these  are  rebellious." 

McClure  was  looking  across  the  space  between  them 
heavily,  and  Miss  Severoid  was  watching  him  with  a 
somewhat  quaking  interest. 

That  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  seen  Clavering 
in  daylight,  and  he  appeared  to  be  making  the  most  of 
his  opportunity,  while  the  outlaw,  white-flanneled  and 
impossibly  clean  in  the  midst  of  such  squalor,  returned 
the  distant  scrutiny  with  a  mild  hint  that  it  might  be 
come  annoying.  But  he  made  no  move  to  approach. 

McClure's  revolver  went  back  into  its  holster  very 
slowly. 

"Let — let's  have  some  tea,"  Miss  Severoid  sug 
gested  timidly,  and  brought  his  attention  from  Claver 
ing  to  herself  with  a  jerk. 

"Er — oh,  yes — tea — of  course!     Is  he  going  to — " 

"N-no.  Just  we  two — "  and  glancing  swiftly  to 
ward  Mora's  doorway  she  saw  to  her  infinite  relief 
that  Clavering  had  gone  in  again.  "I'm  gasping  for 
a  cup." 

McClure  followed  her  into  the  hut,  and  when  Ilora, 
ordered  to  bring  water,  took  up  a  cooler  and  made  a 


180  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

shuffling  exit,  he  watched  her  go  out  with  the  eye  of  a 
cattle-dealer  sizing  up  a  steer.  Then,  looking  intently 
at  Miss  Severoid,  he  asked  quietly : 

"Who  has  been  thrashing  that  girl  ?" 

"Thrashing  her!" 

McClure  nodded  slowly. 

"Yes,  I'm  afraid  so.  When  she  picked  up  that 
cooler  I  could  see  she  had  been  under  the  influence  of 
hippo-hide — and  a  lot  of  it — quite  recently.  That  stiff 
and  jerky  straightening  of  the  back  is  unmistakable. 
At  home  we'd  call  it  rheumatism,  but  among  the  under 
dogs  out  here,  it's  reasonably  sure  to  be  hippo-hide. 
And  she  fastens  her  cloth  over  the  shoulders  instead  of 
under  the  arms,  so  I  fancy  the  marks  are  fairly  well 
scattered  and  high." 

Miss  Severoid  was  astounded  and  horrified  both. 

"You  mean  that  some  one  has  actually  thrashed  her 
with  one  of  those  terrible  whips?" 

McClure  inclined  his  head  again  and  moodily 
studied  the  native  mat  at  his  feet.  Clavering's  mag 
nanimity  still  rankled  like  a  jagged  barb,  and,  try  as  he 
would,  the  trader  could  not  associate  the  outlaw  with 
any  sort  of  charity  that  did  not  have  an  ulterior  motive 
attached. 

"How  has  his  lordship  been  behaving  himself?"  he 
asked  at  last. 

"Oh,  splendidly!"  Miss  Severoid  answered  without 
a  moment's  hesitation.  "He's  been  awfully  kind. 
Just  like  a  big  brother,  and  I  really  cannot  believe  that 
he  hasn't  some'  good  in  him.  He's  queer  and  uncanny 
and  all  that,  but  he  can  be  as  gentle  as  a  woman  when 
he  likes.  But  don't  let  us  talk  about  him.  Sit  down 
and  let  me  look  at  your  eyes.  I  couldn't  see  them 
properly  in  that  dark  little  place  of  yours." 

McClure  eyed  one  of  the  camp-chairs  a  moment 
dubiously,  then  risked  it.  The  chair  bore  the  strain 


AN  INTRUSION  181 

nobly,  and  Miss  Severoid  examined  his  eyes  with  a 
soft  motherly  tenderness  that  gave  him  a  disagreeable 
sensation  that  he  was  being  petted. 

"They  look  terribly  painful,"  she  said  in  a  tone  that 
was  very,  very  sorry  for  them.  "Do  they  hurt 
much?" 

"No— not  at  all,"  McClure  lied  cheerfully.  "I— 
e-er — I  think  you'd  better  sit  down,  don't  you?  You 
are  not  quite  yourself  yet." 

"Wait  a  minute  till  I  fix  this  again.  I'm  not  so 
terribly  weak  as  all  that." 

She  smiled  down  at  him,  and  though  the  pallor  of 
her  cheeks  and  the  slight  fever-born  heaviness  that 
hung  about  her  eyes  belied  her  assumption  of  strength, 
her  smile  scattered  the  lie  like  chaff. 

"There !  I  think  that  will  stay  that  way,"  she  said, 
referring  to  the  palm-leaf  eye-shade  which  she  re 
adjusted.  "Does  it  feel  as  if  it  would  ?" 

"Yes,  thanks !     Still  a  little  shaky,  aren't  you?" 

He  caught  her  arm  gently  as  she  swayed  a  trifle,  and 
she  laughed. 

"Just  a  little.  Think  you  could — carry  me — to  that 
chair?" 

She  reached  it  before  he  could  move.  It  was  only 
two  yards  away,  and  her  low  laughter  made  the  dingy, 
insalubrious  hut  a  drawing-room,  and  the  sordid  pros 
pect  of  the  sun-baked  compound,  littered  with  filth  and 
Mora's  naked  children,  an  English  lawn  peopled  with 
afternoon  idlers  in  silks  and  tennis  flannels. 

"I — er — I  hope  I  did  not  offend  you  by  carrying 
you?" 

"Offend  me!  How  should  I  have  reached  here  if 
you  hadn't  ?  And  I — I  want  to  say  how  much  I — " 

"Don't  do  that.  It  was  my  fool  of  a  boy's  fault. 
And  I  really  should  apologize  to  you  for  all  the  misery 
his  blundering  has  given  you.  He's  a  good  boy-  • 


I&5  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

faithful  as  a  sheep-dog,  but  without  that  animal's 
brains."  A  pause.  "You  are  still  determined  to  go 
through  with  this  ?" 

"Yes,"  very  quietly. 

"And  this  sort  of  thing" — a  sweep  of  his  hand  em 
braced  Basanna  and  the  bush  and  the  perils  of  sickness 
and  accident — "doesn't  frighten  you?" 

"No.     I  expected  it,  and  it  will  probably  be  worse." 

The  tightening  of  McClure's  lips  agreed  with  her, 
and  there  followed  a  short,  awkward  quiet.  Miss  Sev- 
eroid  trifled  with  a  dainty  handkerchief,  and  McClure, 
glimpsing  a  rude  and  cruel  wrestling  match  through 
the  window,  watched  it  abstractedly  till  the  taller  of 
the  two  contestants  slipped  and  fell,  to  the  shrill- 
voiced  enjoyment  of  a  few  greasy-looking  spectators. 

"You  trust  Clavering  implicitly,  then?" 

Miss  Severoid  hesitated  and  glanced  quickly  about 
her. 

"I'm  not  sure,"  she  whispered.  "Though  goodness 
knows  he's  been  good  as  gold  to  me  here.  No  one 
could  have  been  kinder  or  more  gentle,  and — and — oh, 
I  can't  make  him  out  at  all !  He's  so  queer  sometimes, 
and  that  beast  Cralla  seems  to  be  like  his  right  arm. 
One  can't  ever  be  sure  of  what  he  is  going  to  do  next. 
Did  he  say  anything  to  you  about  where  Cralla  had 
gone?" 

"Mayona,  I  believe.  The  chief  is  to  meet  us  there. 
It's  only  half  a  day  away." 

"Is  Mr.  Clavering  going  with  us  to  Mayona?" 

"He  didn't  say." 

"You  don't  feel  as  if  you'd  like  to  shoot  him,  do 
you?" 

McClure  laughed  shortly,  and  his  hand,  straying 
absently  to  his  revolver,  came  slowly  away  again. 

"Under  the  circumstances,  I'm  afraid  not." 


AN  INTRUSION  183 

"Don't  you  really  think  he  has  been  very  good  to 
us?" 

"Um — yes — I  suppose  so." 

"You  don't  say  that  very  enthusiastically."  She 
regarded  McClure  for  a  little  while  dubiously.  "You 
— you're  not  sorry  for  anything,  are  you  ?" 

"Sorry !"  McClure  rose,  stretching  his  great  limbs. 
"No,  not  at  all.  I'm  at  sea  about  most  of  what  it's  all 
about,  but  still  I'm  rather  thankful  for  some  things." 

"Such  as?" 

"Being  able  to  see  you  again." 

He  said  it  quite  calmly — so  calmly  that  Miss  Sever- 
oid  wondered  if  he  had  said  it  at  all. 

"Thank  you,"  very  quietly,  and  looking  quickly  out 
of  the  window  was  just  in  time  to  glimpse  Cralla's 
head  man  vanishing  into  the  bush  with  a  black,  tar 
paulin-covered  carrier's  pack  on  his  back.  "But  I 
thought  you  left  that  sort  of  thing  to — the  others." 

"I  meant  that." 

Miss  Severoid  laughed  softly  and  glanced  swiftly 
upward.  She  had  not  recognized  either  the  head  man 
or  the  pack. 

"Don't  you  want  to  sit  down,  or  is  that  camp-chair 
too  low?"' 

McClure  looked  down  at  her  very  seriously,  his  head 
bent  forward  a  little,  his  arms  hanging  easily  by  his 
sides. 

"You  are  the  most  wonderful  woman  I've  ever 
known.  Whether  I  love  you  or  not  I  can't  say,  be 
cause  I've  had  no  practical  experience  in  analyzing 
these  things.  But  I  want  you  more  than  I  ever  wanted 
anything,  and — well — I'd  just  like  to  know  if  it's  any 
use — hoping.  May  I  ?" 

Miss  Severoid's  smile  faded,  and  she  did  not  blush. 
She  looked  frightened — shrinkingly  so,  as  though  Me- 


184  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

Cure's  peculiar  and  deliberate  proposal  had  been  a 
blow. 

Then  she  laughed  again — a  strange,  whimsical  little 
ripple  that  sounded  hollow. 

"You — I — please  don't."  She  looked  up  at  him  in 
timid  appeal.  "I — I  thought  you  wouldn't — wouldn't 
ever  be — like  that.  You  mustn't,  because  I — I  can't — 
I — oh,  please!" 

She  bent  her  head  suddenly,  covering  her  face  with 
her  hands,  and  McClure,  though  he  felt  the  tempera 
ture  drop  all  at  once  and  the  world  sink  and  slip  from 
beneath  his  feet,  made  no  sound. 

The  buzz  and  the  scattering  shrieks  of  Beni  village 
life  had  died  away  and  a  strange  quiet  had  settled  over 
compound  and  hut.  But  McClure  did  not  take  note 
of  these  things  then.  He  was  thinking  of  how  lucky 
Ralph  Debenham  had  been  and  of  how  little  the 
"young  fool"  had  appreciated  it;  and  from  that  mo 
ment  McClure  eliminated  himself,  blotted  out  his 
dreams  and  turned  his  face  toward  the  future  without 
whining  and  without  a  single  word  of  pleading  or  a 
question  as  to  the  whole  truth. 

"That — er — that's  all  right,"  he  said,  breaking  a 
seemingly  interminable  silence  and  scarcely  recogni 
zing  his  own  voice.  "My  fault.  Sorry  I — " 

Just  then  the  sound  of  a  scuffling  foot  came  into  the 
shadows  of  the  doorway  and  Ilora  looked  in — just  a 
moment. 

"Gov'ment  come !"  she  announced  raspingly  as  Mc 
Clure  swiftly  turned  his  head;  and  then  she  slipped 
away  again  as  though  she  did  not  care  whether  he 
heard  or  not. 

"Wh-what  is  it?"  Miss  Severoid  whispered  and 
started  instantly  to  her  feet. 

There  was  a  look  of  hopefulness  on  McClure's  face. 
He  was  glad  the  government  had  come.  It  was  time 


AN  INTRUSION  185 

some  one  or  something  came  to  put  an  end  to  the 
insane  project. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered.  "Some  one  said  the 
government  had  come,  and  I  suppose  that  means — we 
can't  go  on." 

"Can't—" 

Miss  Severoid's  slender  figure  became  stiff  and  taut 
in  a  second.  Her  mouth  twisted  queerly  and  tight 
ened,  and  the  flashing  lights  that  sprang  into  her  eyes 
were  those  of  some  wild  thing  upon  whose  heart  terror 
had  set  its  clutch. 

"They  mustn't  stop  us!  They  mustn't!  I  won't 
go  back !  I — I — where  is  Clav — " 

McClure's  hand  went  over  her  mouth  most  uncere 
moniously. 

Lieutenant  Maybrick,  of  Saloko,  accompanied  by 
two  khaki-clad  Yoruba  orderlies,  came  into  the  door 
way. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

BETRAYED 

McCLURE  fumbled  with  his  soft  collar,  then  with  his 
belt;  squared  his  shoulders  and  let  them  sag  again — 
pulled  nervously  upon  his  mustache  and  gave  the  gen 
eral  impression  that  he  did  not  know  what  to  do  with 
himself. 

Lieutenant  Maybrick — tall,  clean-shaven,  with  a 
somewhat  weak  mouth,  and  radiating  a  suggestion  of 
boyishness  in  spite  of  his  command  and  his  thirty-odd 
years — stood  with  his  helmet  in  his  hand,  considering 
Miss  Severoid's  pale  face  and  the  smile  that  broke 
through  her  first  look  of  fear,  as  if  he  did  not  know 
just  how  to  meet  it. 

The  Yorubas  behind  him  were  apparently  oblivious 
of  everything  but  the  nape  of  their  officer's  neck ;  and 
beyond  them  Basanna  was  as  quiet  as  a  graveyard  at 
night.  But  a  company  of  sphinx-faced  Yorubas, 
armed  with  rifles  that  are  known  to  be  capable  of 
killing  at  a  thousand  yards,  usually  has  that  quieting 
effect  upon  such  noxious  sores  as  Basanna  was  upon 
the  earth's  surface. 

And  in  those  troublous  days,  when  Clavering  was  at 
the  zenith  of  his  power,  standing  the  name  of  gov 
ernment  on  its  head — before  there  was  a  police  de 
partment  at  Saloko,  or  any  other  department  save  the 
D.  C.'s  office,  those  khaki-clad  little  brown  men  did 
most  of  the  work  in  counteracting  Clavering's  baleful 
influence  upon  the  rude  Delta  native,  and  in  impressing 

186 


BETRAYED  187 

the  latter  with  his  first  conception  of  government.  In 
the  Beni  country,  where  Clavering  was  known  to  be 
exceptionally  powerful,  they  were  as  necessary  to  an 
officer  as  his  tooth-brush. 

But  Lieutenant  Maybrick  almost  forgot  he  had  them 
when  he  became  aware  of  the  fact  that  Miss  Severoid 
had  eyes — velvet-blue  eyes  that  did  not  flinch,  but  in 
stead  looked  straight  at  him  in  a  soft,  steady,  appealing 
sort  of  way  that  made  it  very  difficult  to  be  an  officer 
rather  than  a  man. 

"Er — that  is — hello,  Maybrick!"  McClure  managed 
to  say  at  last.  "Come  in.  Allow  me  to  introduce 
you  to  Miss  Severoid.  Miss  Severoid,  this  is  Lieuten 
ant  Maybrick,  of  Saloko — a  power  in  the  state.  Lieu 
tenant  Maybrick — Miss  Severoid." 

McClure's  forcedly  easy  tone  startled  the  lieutenant 
somewhat.  It  was  not  in  the  least  what  he  had  ex 
pected.  Neither  was  Miss  Severoid. 

In  Saloko,  when  the  news  of  the  "elopement"  came 
through  from  Segwanga  per  runner,  it  created  quite  a 
stir,  and  because  the  district  commissioner  at  Saloko 
had  never  basked  in  the  sunshine  of  Miss  Severoid's 
smiles,  he  became  extremely  active  in  his  efforts  to 
discover  if  the  runaways  had  come  north — within  his 
district. 

A  colored  government  hireling,  bent  upon  an  even 
ing's  debauch,  visited  the  village  of  Okanna,  where  the 
launch  Rover  was  in  hiding,  and  stumbling  upon  the 
launch's  colored  engineer,  John,  forgot  his  intention  to 
get  drunk  and  thought  of  promotion.  He  knew  John, 
and  a  little  while  later  he  found  the  Rover  and  a  large, 
forty-paddle  canoe — which  information  he  carried  to 
the  district  commissioner  post-haste. 

After  that  the  trail  was  comparatively  easy  to  fol 
low,  particularly  when  John  was  threatened  with 
sudden  extinction  if  he  did  not  speak  out. 


188  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

John  spoke  out — all  he  knew — which  was  the  "Benin 
City  road." 

That  was  enough — and  a  little  more,  because  the 
D.  C.  could  not  conceive  of  any  one  eloping  along  the 
Benin  City  road. 

"Mad!  McClure's  crazy!  Good  Lord!  Poor  lit 
tle  woman — among  those  beasts!  They'll — oh,  hell! 
Orderly!" 

Within  a  few  hours  Lieutenant  Maybrick,  with  a 
company  of  Yorubas  to  lend  a  moral  effect,  had  started 
off  in  pursuit  of  the  "mad  McClure" — with  orders  to 
"bring  him  and  the  poor  woman  back.  But  don't 
shoot  him  unless  you  think  it  will  save  time  and  trouble 
afterward." 

Consequently  the  lieutenant,  into  whose  hands  the 
four-days'  delay  at  Basanna  had  played  very  con 
veniently,  found  the  mad  McClure's  attitude  rather 
astonishing.  The  trader  did  not  look  at  all  mad, 
though  the  palm-leaf  eye-shade  gave  him  a  curious 
appearance;  and  Miss  Severoid  bore  no  resemblance 
to  the  "poor  woman"  the  lieutenant's  imagination  had 
pictured. 

So  he  hesitated  in  awkward  indecision,  trying  to 
adjust  his  mind  to  conditions. 

"Are  you  not  going  to  shake  hands  with  me  ?"  Miss 
Severoid  asked  sweetly. 

"Oh — er — I  beg  your  pardon,"  Maybrick  stam 
mered,  and  came  instantly  forward  to  accept  the  invi 
tation,  finding  as  he  did  so  that  Miss  Severoid's  hand 
was  different  somehow  from  any  other.  He  could  not 
explain  it,  but  the  touch  of  her  fingers  and  the  soft 
look  in  her  eyes  seemed  to  mother  him  and  make  him 
feel,  as  he  expressed  it  to  himself — "like  a  damned 
fool!" 

McClure  watched  but  did  not  wonder.  He  had  seen 
other  men  look  as  Maybrick  looked  then  when  their 


BETRAYED  189 

eyes  encountered  Miss  Severoid's  for  the  first  time. 

''What  are  you  doing  away  up  here  ?"  she  asked  the 
lieutenant  naively,  moving  toward  one  of  the  camp- 
chairs.  "I  think  you  had  better  sit  down,  too.  You 
look  very  tired." 

Maybrick  was  ill  at  ease  and  did  not  accept  the  prof 
fered  chair. 

"If  it's  anything  you  would  like  to  say  to  me — " 
McClure  began  significantly. 

"No.  I  want  to  hear  it,"  Miss  Severoid  broke  in 
hurriedly.  "It  can't  be  so  dreadful  as  all  that.  What 
is  it,  lieutenant?  You  are  not  going  to  handcuff  me, 
are  you?" 

"Er — eh — well — no — hardly  that."  Maybrick  tried 
to  smile  and  failed.  "You — er — you  see,  you  have  no 
permit,  and — well — the  government  doesn't  allow — 
that  is — it  doesn't  allow — well — I  mean — " 

"That  the  government  doesn't  allow  an  unmarried 
woman  to  roam  about  the  country  unless  accompanied 
by  a  parent  or  properly  appointed  guardian?"  Miss 
Severoid  completed  in  a  very  gentle  voice,  i  "I  know 
all  that.  But  this  is  different — so  very  different. 
You'd  think  so,  too,  if  you  were  lying  in  a  slave  com 
pound  in  Benin  City  waiting  for  some  one  to  come  and 
take  you  out." 

Maybrick's  eyebrows  rose  and  fell.  So  did  Mc- 
Clure's ;  and  he  was  more  accustomed  than  the  lieuten 
ant  to  Miss  Severoid's  practise  of  thrusting  the  most 
startling  information  at  one  in  the  most  matter-of-fact 
way — a  method  that  instantly  seized  upon  one's  interest 
and  led  one  to  believe  that  the  rest  of  the  story  would 
follow  just  as  easily. 

Which,  as  he  knew,  it  didn't. 

The  lieutenant  looked  back  from  Miss  Severoid  to 
McClure,  then  back  again,  and  his  eyes  became  two 
sharp  interrogation  points. 


190  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"You  mean — you  are  going  to  Benin  City?" 

"M-hm — oh — I  mean,  yes!     Is  it  so  very  terrible?" 

And  Maybrick's  glance  turned  slowly  upon  McClure 
—so  queerly  and  so  significantly  that  the  trader 
winced.  He  knew  that  the  lieutenant  was  wondering 
whether  he  were  mad — or  just  an  unscrupulous  hound 
who  had  led  Miss  Severoid  into  the  Beni  country  upon 
a  quest  he  had  no  intention  of  completing. 

In  short,  Maybrick  was  thinking  of  McClure — what 
McClure  had  thought  of  Clavering. 

"You  seem  to  know  the  Beni  country  pretty  well," 
the  lieutenant  drawled  pointedly.  "And  they  treat 
you  like  a  brother.  As  a  rule  that  means — " 

He  stopped  as  though  something  very  serious  had 
dawned  upon  him,  and  wheeling  sharply  he  snapped 
an  order  at  the  two  Yorubas  to  stand  guard  over  the 
door,  then  slipped  between  them  out  into  the  com 
pound. 

Followed  a  babel  of  sounds — sharp  orders  in  Eng 
lish  and  the  whimper  and  whine  of  scattering  Benis  as 
the  company  of  Yorubas  broke  their  line  formation 
and  dived  in  twos  and  threes  into  the  squalid  huts 
round  about  them — like  dogs  who  had  caught  the 
scent. 

They  went  through  Basanna  as  with  a  fine-tooth 
comb,  searching  for  guns  or  powder  or  other  forbid 
den  fruit  that  Lieutenant  Maybrick  had  hastily  con 
cluded  McClure  must  have  paid  to  Chief  Mora  for 
the  hospitality  they  had  received. 

Only  these  things,  at  that  time,  could  safely  pur 
chase  the  Benis'  friendship.  They  were  the  things 
that  money  could  not  buy. 

Clavering  had  originally  inoculated  them  with  a 
preference  for  modern  firearms;  had  shown  their 
chiefs  what  a  Winchester  could  do  and  what  a  muzzle- 
loader  couldn't — which  made  them  very  much  dissatis- 


BETRAYED  191 

fied  with  the  muzzle-loader  and  the  namby-pamby  gifts 
the  white  traders  sometimes  threw  their  way.  So  that 
when  a  trader  and  a  chief  were  suspiciously  friendly 
the  government  was  prone  to  conclude  that  the  trader 
had  been  emulating  Clavering's  example. 

And  the  Yorubas  found  a  Winchester  and  a  Mar 
tini-Henry — a  few  muzzle-loaders,  several  rounds  of 
ammunition,  several  kegs  of  powder,  and  several  more 
of  lead-shot — all  in  Mora's  quarters. 

Standing  at  the  window  Miss  Severoid  watched  the 
ominous  operations  of  the  Yorubas,  quite  unconscious 
of  McClure's  danger,  but  growing  colder  and  colder, 
till  it  seemed  as  if  an  icy  hand  had  seized  upon  her 
heart  and  was  squeezing  it  dry  of  life  and  hope  and 
everything  that  mattered. 

She  did  not  speak  or  make  any  sound,  and  she  was 
hardly  aware  of  McClure's  large  and  silent  presence 
behind  her.  The  Yorubas  in  the  doorway  and  the 
sniveling  group  of  Beni  women  huddled  in  one  corner 
of  Mora's  compound  were  misty  quantities  that  had 
little  to  do  with  the  tense  anxiety  she  felt — on  Claver 
ing's  account;  that  same  anxiety  she  had  experienced 
when  she  had  pictured  him  cooped  up  in  Rama's  com 
pound  at  Saganna. 

She  did  not  even  observe  that  Cralla's  boys  had  dis 
appeared — packs  and  all  together;  nor  did  she  realize 
that  most  of  the  male  population  of  Basanna  had  taken 
flight. 

Of  the  expedition  party  only  Plymouth  remained. 
Ilora  had  also  gone.  There  was  not  a  Jackrie  in  sight. 

"Where  is  Clavering?" 

Her  mind  repeated  the  question  over  and  over 
again,  and  it  was  upon  occasions  like  this  that  she  real 
ized  how  desperately  she  relied  upon  his  help  and  how 
impotent  her  efforts  would  be  without  him. 

And  now,  she  was  asking  herself,  what  she  would 


192  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

do  if  he  were  caught?  Or,  even  if  he  were  not,  what 
he  could  do  for  her  in  the  teeth  of  those  terrible, 
khaki-clad  little  men  who  seemed  to  have  been  born 
to  the  business  of  killing,  and  who  would  only  be  too 
glad  to  wipe  Basanna  and  Clavering  out  of  existence  ? 

McClure  also  watched  in  silence.  He  knew  what 
had  been  in  Maybrick's  mind  the  moment  he  had  left 
the  hut ;  and  he  knew  what  the  discovery  of  arms  and 
ammunition  would  mean  to  him.  It  meant  that  he 
would  be  taken  back  to  Saloko  and  tried  upon  the 
charge  of  high  treason  for  having  furnished  Mora  with 
munitions  of  war;  and  that,  unless  he  could  substan 
tially  prove  himself  innocent,  he  would  most  assuredly 
be  deported  for  trial  in  England;  might  even  be  most 
ignominiously  hanged  by  the  Nigerian  authorities, 
since  Clavering's  practise  of  the  offense  had  elevated  it 
to  a  capital  one  and  had  made  the  powers  that  were 
steely-eyed  about  it. 

The  charge  was  ridiculous,  of  course;  but  the  un 
fortunate  circumstance  was  that,  so  far  as  McClure 
could  see  just  then,  he  could  not  produce  a  single  wit 
ness  who  was  not,  technically  at  least,  an  accomplice. 

Miss  Severoid,  having  no  "fixed  or  authorized  occu 
pation,"  was  actually  a  vagrant,  and  subject  to  imme 
diate  deportation.  If  Cralla  were  caught  he  would  be 
arraigned  alongside  McClure  and  would  run  the  serious 
risk  of  attaching  himself  to  a  chain  gang  for  the  rest 
of  his  natural  life. 

Chief  Mora  might  declare,  upon  the  threat  of  pains 
and  penalties,  who  had  actually  supplied  him  with  the 
arms  and  ammunition.  But  no  Beni  had  ever  turned 
upon  Clavering  and  lived;  so  that  the  old  chief  of 
Basanna  was  between  two  fires  and  would  not  be  in 
the  least  likely  to  return. 

Further,  it  was  imperative  that  Clavering's  name  be 
kept  out  of  the  affair,  for  while  there  was  an  excel- 


BETRAYED  193 

lent  chance  that  McClure's  previous  reputation  might 
have  considerable  weight  with  the  Nigerian  authorities 
to  the  extent  that  he  would  probably  escape  the  ex 
treme  penalty  and  simply  be  deported,  the  fact  that  he 
had  been  in  Basanna  in  Clavering's  company  would,  if 
it  were  known,  jar  his  "previous  reputation"  com 
pletely  off  its  pedestal  and  lead  him  to  the  nearest 
mango  tree. 

McClure  quickly  grasped  these  salient  features  of 
his  predicament  while  he  watched  the  busy  little  brown 
men  running  in  and  out  of  Basanna's  huts.  Then, 
studying  the  dull  gold  of  Miss  Severoid's  hair,  he  won 
dered  what  she  would  do. 

The  velvet  touch  of  her  hands  and  the  magnetism  in 
her  voice  and  eyes  and  lips  had  drawn  him  from 
beaten  paths  to  the  very  edge  of  a  precipice.  His  use 
fulness,  so  far  as  she  was  concerned,  was  over.  There 
were  but  two  courses  open  to  him ;  to  submit  to  arrest 
and  the  ignominy  of  what  awaited  him  at  Saloko,  or  to 
resist  capture  and  be  decently  shot. 

But  he  wondered,  in  either  event,  what  Miss  Sever- 
oid  would  do. 

The  stiffness  and  the  tensity  of  her  attitude,  com 
bined  with  her  silence,  told  him  quite  plainly  that  she 
had  no  intention  of  turning  back,  even  at  the  muzzles 
of  the  Yoruba  rifles;  and  he  knew,  too,  that  she  had 
no  understanding  of  his  own  situation. 

"Nuisance,  isn't  it  ?"  he  hazarded  finally. 

Miss  Severoid  did  not  move  for  almost  a  minute; 
then  she  turned  her  head  very  slowly. 

"I  wonder  where  he  went  to?"  she  whispered,  and 
did  not  realize  how  much  anxiety  there  was  in  her  face 
and  tone. 

"I  don't  think  you  need  worry  very  much  about 
him,"  McClure  returned  dryly,  emphasizing  the  final 
pronoun.  "He  has  been  in  the  same  fix  a  dozen  times 


194  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

before.  What  are  you  going  to  do  when  Maybrick 
comes  back?  He'll  take  us  back  to  Saloko,  you 
know." 

Miss  Severoid's  firm  little  jaws  came  together. 

"He  won't!"  she  said  deliberately.  "I'm  going  to 
Benin  City  and — and  you're  not  going  to  leave  me,  are 
you?" 

"Not  if  I  can  avoid  it.  But — you  see — well — the 
lieutenant  thinks  those  guns  and  things  outside  Mora's 
door  came — from  me.  And  that  sort  of  compli 
cates — " 

"From  you!     B-but  how  can  he  think  that?" 

"Because  we  have  lived  in  the  Beni  village  of  Ba- 
sanna  for  several  days  just  as  safely  as  if  we  were  in 
Segwanga,  and  that  privilege,  since  Clavering  gave 
these  people  bad  habits,  can  be  purchased  only  by — 
those  things.  Consequently,  because  the  lieutenant 
knows  nothing  of  your  white-flanneled  friend,  he 
makes  a  very  natural  deduction  and  drags  me  in.  And 
if  he  thought  I'd  been  hobnobbing  with  Mr.  C.  I  don't 
think  he'd  bother  to  give  me  any  more  of  a  trial  than 
that  gentleman  will  get  when  they  catch  him." 

"You  mean  he'd—" 

"Sh !  Here  comes  Maybrick  back  again.  What  do 
you  wish  me  to  do?  Look  cheap  or  make  one  last 
play  to  the  gallery?"  He  fingered  the  butt  of  his 
revolver  as  he  spoke,  just  to  see  what  she  would  do. 

With  a  swift  glance  into  his  eyes — a  look  he  remem 
bered  long  afterward  when  it  was  the  only  thing  that 
made  him  want  to  live — she  leaped  at  his  right  hand 
and  seized  it  in  both  of  hers. 

"Don't!" 

McClure  smiled  and  feasted  his  soul  upon  her  fright 
ened  eyes. 

"Give  me  the  revolver,"  she  whispered.     "Please!" 

He   removed   his  hand   from   the   butt.     Instantly 


BETRAYED  195 

snatching  the  weapon  from  its  holster,  Miss  Severoid 
sprang  away  from  him  in  a  manner  that  made  him 
gasp,  and  ran  swiftly  toward  the  door,  just  as  Lieuten 
ant  Maybrick,  set-faced  and  very  serious,  came  in 
again. 

She  almost  collided  with  him,  and  clutching  his 
arm  frantically,  thrust  McClure's  revolver  at  him  as 
though  she  could  not  get  rid  of  it  quickly  enough. 

"It's  Mr.  McClure's,"  she  said  anxiously.  "I — I 
was  afraid  he  was  going  to  shoot  you,  so  I  took  it 
from  him !" 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE   CONQUEST   OF   THE   GOVERNMENT 

Miss  SEVEROID  glanced  affrightedly  behind  her,  as 
if  she  were  afraid  McClure  was  in  pursuit;  and  the 
trader  did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  or  swear. 

Maybrick,  quite  subconsciously,  put  a  protecting  arm 
about  her  as  she  leaned,  limp  and  breathless,  against  his 
shoulder,  and  the  look  he  gave  McClure  was  steely. 

There  was  a  short,  sharp  order  to  the  Yorubas  in 
the  doorway,  and  two  seconds  later  the  trader  was 
under  arrest,  with  a  Yoruba  upon  either  side  of  him. 

He  did  not  speak,  but  inwardly  he  groaned.  When 
ordered  to  march  from  the  hut  into  the  open  he  obeyed 
without  demur,  striding  past  the  stern-visaged  lieuten 
ant  and  the  woman  who  shrank  into  the  protection  of 
his  good  left  arm.  without  so  much  as  a  glance  at 
either  of  them. 

But  his  soul  was  writhing  in  Gehenna  for  all  that! 

Lieutenant  Maybrick  led  Miss  Severoid  slowly  and 
very  gently  to  a  chair. 

He  felt  that  she  was  much  more  to  be  pitied  than 
blamed  for  having  succumbed  to  the  "wiles  of  a  hypo 
critical  beast  like  McClure,"  and  as  he  considered  that 
she  had  probably  saved  his  life,  it  was  not  difficult  for 
him  to  believe  that  she  was  not  nearly  so  bad  as  her 
situation  painted  her.  In  addition  to  which  she  was 
a  deucedly  pretty  woman;  and  the  lieutenant  had  an 
eye  for  feminine  loveliness,  as  a  fleeting  glance  at  the 
lady  he  had  married  would  have  proven. 

196 


CONQUEST  OF  THE  GOVERNMENT      197 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone  of  assur 
ance.  "It's  all  right.  We'll  start  back  for  Saloko 
very  shortly,  and  I  don't  think  he'll  bother  you  again." 

Miss  Severoid  retained  her  grip  upon  his  sleeve  and 
looked  up  at  him  with  large,  baby-blue  eyes  that  said 
she  was  quite  sure  she  had  at  last  found  some  one  she 
could  trust. 

"You  are  very  good  to  me,"  she  said  simply.  "And 
I'm  not  a  bit  afraid  with  you.  I  wish  you  could  go  on 
to  Benin  City  with  me.  Do  you  think  you  could  ?" 

Maybrick  blinked  and  gaped  a  little,  but  Miss  Sever 
oid  rattled  on,  always  careful  to  keep  the  lieutenant's 
attention  fixed  upon  her  face — which  he  did  not  find  a 
hardship : 

"You  see,  I  simply  have  to  go,  and  when  I  persuaded 
Mr.  McClure  to  go  with  me  I  thought  everything 
would  be  all  right.  And  it  would  have  been,  too,  if 
that  beast  Cralla  hadn't  struck  Mr.  McClure  across 
the  eyes  with  one  of  those  terrible  whips  and  then  run 
away  and  left  us  in  a  rain-storm. 

"Mr.  McClure  could  not  see  and  we  got  lost.  Then, 
after  we'd  walked  and  walked,  and  I  began  to  limp 
and  feel  queer  and  chilly,  Mr.  McClure  carried  me — 
oh,  I  don't  know  how  long !" 

"But  I  thought  you  said  he  could  not  see  ?"  the  lieu 
tenant  interposed  mildly,  and  his  look  was  becoming 
just  a  little  covetous. 

"And  he  couldn't.  He  just  had  to  stumble  along 
and  trust  to  the  guidance  of  the  Kroo-boy  who  was 
with  us.  Then  I  fainted  or  something,  and  when  I 
woke  up  I  was  in  that  bed  over  there  and  Mr.  Claver- 
ing  was  standing — " 

"Clavering!"  Lieutenant  Maybrick's  jaw  dropped 
stupidly. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Clavering — looking  as  if  he'd  stepped  out 
of  a  tailor's  shop  window.  I  don't  know  where  he 


198  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

came  from,  but  I'd  met  him  once  before,  you  know, 
when  the  Mission  launch  broke  down  and — " 

"Yes — er — yes,  I  heard  of  that.  And  what  did  he 
do  this  time?'* 

"Took  care  of  me  like  a  brother.  He  was  really 
awfully  nice,  and  he  must  have  given  that  old  beast 
Mora  all  those  guns  and  things  to  keep  him  quiet,  be 
cause  we  haven't  been  bothered  in  the  least  while  we've 
been  here. 

"Mr.  McClure  was  in  the  hut  next  door,  and  he 
didn't  dare  trust  himself  in  the  sun  till  this  afternoon, 
shortly  before  you  came.  And  if  he  had  known  that 
Clavering  was  so  near  he  would  have  shot  him  on 
sight.  He's  said  so  a  hundred  times.  But  fortu 
nately  he  couldn't  see  to  shoot  anything,  and  when  I 
told  him  this  afternoon  who  was  responsible  for  all 
the  mercies  we  had  received,  he  was  terribly  angry  and 
shot  holes  in  a  coconut — just  to  try  his  aim.  You  can 
go  out  and  look  at  the  coconut,  if  you  like." 

A  pause.  Maybrick  stroked  his  chin  and  did  his 
best  to  look  official.  He  was  a  capable  and  efficient 
officer  who  had  heaped  credit  uoon  himself  in  the 
Sudan  and  India. 

But  Miss  Severoid  was — well — she  wasn't  a  howling 
dervish  nor  yet  a  greasy  Pathan. 

"Umph !  I  suppose  that  was  the  shooting  I  heard. 
And  when  did  Clavering  leave  ?" 

"This  morning  early,"  Miss  Severoid  lied  readily. 
"He  said  he'd  probably  see  me  again  in  Mayona,  but 
I  hope  he  isn't  going  to  annoy  me.  He  gives  me  the 
creeps." 

And  instantly  Maybrick  gobbled  at  the  bait — hook 
and  altogether.  Miss  Severoid's  innocent  blue  eyes 
looked  up  at  him  dreamily  and  waited  a  little  while  so 
that  he  could  take  a  proper  hold,  then  she  continued 
as  though  the  lieutenant's  anxiety  to  stifle  the  eager 


CONQUEST  OF  THE  GOVERNMENT      199 

questions  he  wished  to  put  to  her  was  not  written  in 
every  line  of  his  face. 

"Mr.  McClure  knew  that  you  thought  he  had  bribed 
Mora  with  all  that  powder  and  stuff,  and  got  so  ter 
ribly  angry  I  thought  he  would  surely  shoot  you. 
He's  awfully  sensitive  about  his  honor;  and  you'd  be 
angry,  too,  if  any  one  accused  you  of  a  thing  like  that. 
I  know  you  would,  because  you  have  such  a  strong 
face.  It's  so — so — oh,  I  can't  describe  faces  very 
well,  but  I  seem  to  sense  purpose  in  a  man !" 

Maybrick  colored  a  little  and  was  confused.  There 
are  few  men  who  are  not  susceptible  to  cleverly  admin 
istered  flattery,  and  Maybrick  was  not  the  exception. 

But  there  was  more  genius  in  Miss  Severoid's  sim 
ply  told  tale  than  appeared  on  the  surface. 

At  the  very  first  mention  of  Claveringfs  name — 
before  the  higher  authorities  and  red-tape  had  had  an 
opportunity  to  make  things  unpleasant  for  McClure — 
the  charge  against  the  trader  was  dismissed  ere  it  had 
been  made. 

Instantly  Maybrick's  mind  swept  in  pursuit  of  Clav- 
ering — just  as  Miss  Severoid  intended  that  it  should 
— and  as  he  toyed  with  McClure's  revolver  he  almost 
forgot  the  trader  in  the  much  larger  prospect  of  cap 
turing  Clavering — by  the  judicious  use  of  the  beauti 
ful  Miss  Severoid  as  an  innocent  "stool-pigeon." 

He  was  blissfully  unconscious  of  the  fact  that  Miss 
Severoid  had  created  those  intentions  for  him  so  that 
he  would  not  be  so  very  anxious  to  go  back  to  Saloko. 

"You — er — you  mentioned  Chief  Cralla,  I  think," 
he  said,  breaking  a  short  pause.  "You  mean  the  chief 
of  Akerri,  I  suppose.  What  was  his  particular  serv 
ice?" 

"Oh,  he  was  just  showing  us  the  way  and  his  boys 
were  the  carriers!  I  haven't  seen  him  since  he  de 
serted  us  in  the  rain-storm.  But  I  imagine  it  was  be- 


200  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

cause  Clavering  was  here  that  he  stayed  away  so  long." 

She  smiled  knowingly,  and  Maybrick  tried  to  look 
as  if  he  understood,  but  his  mind  was  groping  in  a 
gray-black  darkness.  Glancing  lazily  out  of  the  win 
dow  to  where  Basanna's  female  population  was  hud 
dled  affrightedly  together,  he  tried  to  gain  a  little  time 
to  think. 

Miss  Severoid's  face  was  calm  and  her  innocence 
was  sublime.  Picking  her  handkerchief  out  of  her 
lap  she  bit  upon  the  corner  of  it  like  a  child,  pulling 
upon  it  as  if  to  learn  which  was  the  stronger — her 
teeth  or  the  linen. 

Maybrick  looked  around  again. 

"How  do  you  know  that  Cralla  is  afraid  of  Claver 
ing?" 

"Well,  everybody  knows  that  he  betrayed  Clavering 
at  Saganna." 

"Um — yes — I  suppose  he  did!  How  did  you  get 
him  to  agree — " 

Miss  Severoid's  smile  interrupted  him. 

"If  I  told  you  that  I'd  tell  you  the  whole  story — 
which  even  Mr.  McClure  doesn't  know.  Please  let 
me  be  mysterious  a  little  while  longer.  I  like  the  sen 
sation  immensely!" 

Maybrick  laughed  in  spite  of  himself,  but  imme 
diately  tried  to  be  serious  again. 

"Then  I  suppose  it  is  useless  to  ask  you  why  you  are 
going  to  Benin  City  ?" 

"I'm  afraid  so." 

"You  are  sure  that  what  you  are  going  for — is 
there?" 

"I  hope  so.  And  please  don't  look  so  solemn.  You 
are  much  nicer  when  you  smile." 

Maybrick  fidgeted  and  tried  to  oblige;  but  he 
thought  she  was  too  pretty  a  woman  to  look  at  any  man 


CONQUEST  OF  THE  GOVERNMENT      201 

as  she  was  looking  at  him  then.  She  made  him  feel 
uncomfortably  lacking  in  poise — mental  and  physical 
— and  he  found  himself  being  very  sorry  for  her,  par 
ticularly  when  she  rose  and  stood  astonishingly  near 
to  him  as  she  tried  to  see  what  was  going  on  outside. 

Somewhere  in  the  back  of  Maybrick's  mind  there 
was  a  hazy  thought  for  a  company  of  Yorubas  and  the 
sandy-haired  McClure,  but  as  Miss  Severoid  suddenly 
swayed  a  little  and  glanced  in  soft  appeal  into  his  eyes, 
he  forgot  about  the  Yorubas  altogether  in  a  frantic 
effort  to  save  her  from  falling. 

With  a  frightened  little  gasp  she  accommodatingly 
fell  his  way,  and  somehow,  a  little  while  later,  her 
head  was  pillowed  on  his  shoulder  and  his  arms  were 
tenderly  about  her,  holding  her  upon  her  feet. 

"I — I — oh — please — "  she  began  and  did  not  trouble 
to  go  any  further  since  Maybrick's  arms  tightened  of 
their  own  accord. 

"It — it's  all  right,"  he  whispered  assuringly,  but 
there  was  a  rather  queer,  furtive  look  in  his  eyes  and 
he  was  breathing  a  little  faster.  "You  are  just  a  little 
faint.  Just — that  is — don't  be  afraid.  I'll — " 

He  stopped  there. 

It  was  a  long  way  from  Basanna  to  London,  where 
Maybrick's  wife  at  that  moment  sat  writing  to — Lieu 
tenant  Jack  Sylvester,  on  leave,  asking  him  why  he 
had  not  called  the  previous  evening ;  a  letter  which  con 
cluded  pitifully  with — "Your  very  own,  lonely  Mar 
gery." 

But  perhaps  Maybrick  had  telepathic  communication 
with  London. 

In  any  case  he  did  something  then  that  surprised 
himself  much  more  than  it  did  Miss  Severoid. 

He  bent  his  head  very  suddenly  and  kissed  the  tempt 
ing,  upturned  lips  that  were  so  very  near  his  own. 


202  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

They  seemed  to  invite  him  to  do  so,  and  resistance  to 
the  impulse  was  scarcely  thought  of  till  Miss  Severoid, 
struggling  out  of  his  embrace,  thrust  him  from  her  in 
gasping  anger  at  the  manner  in  which  her  faith  in  him 
had  been  outraged. 

It  was  capitally  done.  Maybrick  felt  and  looked 
like  a  cad,  and  as  Miss  Severoid  gave  him  to  under 
stand  that  he  was  one,  he  did  not  dream  that  he  had 
been  victimized,  and  placed  in  line  with  Clavering  and 
McClure  so  that  he  might  be  obedient  instead  of 
obeyed. 

Then,  seeing  that  he  felt  his  guilt  keenly  enough, 
and  having  listened  to  his  stammering  apologies,  Miss 
Severoid  reluctantly  forgave  him  with  a  tantalizing 
something  in  her  manner  that  mothered  and  pitied  him 
and,  at  the  same  time,  led  him  to  hope  that  some  day, 
if  he  were  very  good,  he  might  actually  be  allowed  to 
kiss  her  again. 

Maybrick's  expression  was  hopeful,  yet  sheepish. 
The  world  without  came  back  to  him  with  a  jar,  and 
he  remembered  very  suddenly  that  he  had  a  company 
of  Yorubas  waiting  for  orders — and  a  prisoner,  of 
whom  he  was  a  little  jealous. 

Then,  too,  he  remembered  Clavering  and  laughed 
oddly. 

"I  don't  suppose  you  have  any  objections  to  my 
going  as  far  as  Mayona  with  you?" 

Miss  Severoid  was  looking  out  of  the  window,  try 
ing  to  get  a  glimpse  of  McClure  in  captivity.  But  her 
vision  was  limited,  and  she  saw  only  a  few  scared 
Beni  women  and  the  disconsolate  Plymouth,  who  did 
not  seem  to  know  what  to  make  of  anything. 

She  faced  Maybrick  very  deliberately. 

"No.  I  have  no  objections.  But  the  soldiers  will 
make  my  peaceful  little  expedition  seem  like  a  declara 
tion  of  war.  And  that  would  never  do.  Still,  if  you 


CONQUEST  OF  THE  GOVERNMENT      203 

are  going  only  as  far  as  Mayona,  I  don't  suppose  it 
would  matter  much." 

Instead  of  being  dictated  to,  Miss  Severoid  was  dic 
tating,  and  she  appreciated  the  change  hugely — while 
Maybrick,  who  had  no  intention  of  leaving  all  of  his 
Yorubas  at  Basanna,  tried  to  look  as  if  he  were  giving 
her  opinion  serious  thought. 

"Well — that  is — I  think  I'll  take  some  of  them  as 
far  as  Mayona,"  he  concluded,  and  his  glance  became 
apologetic  again.  "Just  tell  me  again  that  you  are 
not  terribly  angry." 

"I  will  be  if  you  don't  get  one  of  your  soldiers  to 
fetch  some  water  so  that  I  can  make  tea.  And  please 
go  out  and  ask  Mr.  McClure  to  join  us.  He  doesn't 
care  much  for  tea,  but  I  think  you'd  both  like  to  make 
up  over  a  Scotch-and-soda.  Pity  we  haven't  any  ice, 
isn't  it?" 

And  the  teasing  flash  of  humor  in  her  eyes  and  the 
tempting  wonder  of  her  smile  made  Maybrick  feel  that 
the  power  of  yea  and  nay  had  slipped  out  of  his  grasp. 

Ere  ten  minutes  had  gone  McClure  was  back  in  the 
hut,  still  wondering,  and  with  his  revolver  back  in  its 
holster;  Plymouth  was  serving  drinks  as  if  he  were 
glad  of  the  opportunity,  and  Miss  Severoid,  beaming 
in  contentment  over  a  cup  of  tea  and  some  crackers 
and  marmalade,  was  distributing  her  smiles  equally 
between  the  soldier  and  the  trader,  making  them  each 
feel  that  the  other  was  there  only  on  sufferance. 

McClure  asked  no  questions.  Miss  Severoid's  meth 
ods  and  magic  were  not  new  to  him,  and  he  accepted 
her  conquests  as  a  matter  of  course,  even  when  he 
saw  Maybrick  despatch  one  of  his  Yorubas  back  to 
Saloko  with  a  note,  and  learned  that  the  lieutenant,  and 
probably  half  of  his  men,  were  going  with  them,  at 
least  as  far  as  Mayona. 

Maybrick's  message  to  the  D.  C.  at  Saloko  ran : 


204  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

BASANNA,  10th,  5.30  p.  M. — Have  found  the  runaways.  They've 
been  Mora's  guests  for  four  days.  Miss  S.,  who  has  been  down 
with  malaria,  is  a  friend  of  Clavering's,  so  you  can  imagine  who 
paid  for  Mora's  hospitality. 

McGure  is  quite  tame  and  harmless.  Been  blind  for  several 
days — hippo-hide  across  the  eyes,  not  liquor.  The  lady  has  him 
eating  out  of  her  hand,  and  she  has  a  wild  idea  about  going  to 
Benin  City  for  something  mysterious — the  bones  of  Prester  John, 
probably.  You  have  to  see  her  to  believe  it  all. 

Think  I  can  prevent  her  doing  anything  very  foolish,  and  use 
her  to  help  me  catch  Mr.  C. 

Am  starting  for  Mayona  with  her  party,  which  includes  Chief 
Cralla,  of  Akerri — an  unknown  quantity  meantime.  There  is  a 
lot  of  contraband  stuff  in  these  parts,  and  I  expect  to  have  to 
confiscate  most  of  it,  so  perhaps  you'd  better  send  Forrester  and 
Dale  with  their  companies  in  case  there  is  a  muss. 

I  think  I'm  going  to  have  a  hell  of  a  time. 

MAYBRICK. 

And  when  Maybrick  wrote  that  last  sentence  he 
went  nearer  to  the  truth  than  he  imagined. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE   RETURN    OF    THE    CHIEF 

McCLURE  did  not  believe  that  Clavering  would  like 
the  Yoruba  addition  to  the  party ;  yet,  when  the  fright 
ened  Basanna  women  were  ordered  to  go  out  in  search 
of  the  fleeing  carriers,  with  instructions  to  assure  them 
of  their  safety  at  the  hands  of  the  government,  it  was 
remarkable  how  quickly  the  Jackries  reappeared  and 
herded  together  in  their  accustomed  places,  quite  as 
if  nothing  whatever  had  happened. 

Ilora  was  the  first  to  return.  The  others  trooped 
after  her  in  twos  and  threes  like  sheep,  and  she 
counted  them  and  their  packs  as  they  came  in.  Then, 
when  the  roster  was  complete,  she  shuffled,  with  that 
inimitably  indifferent  gait  of  which  she  was  so  guilty, 
to  her  post  as  Miss  Severoid's  maid.  She  almost  in 
stantly  attracted  the  attention  of  Lieutenant  Maybrick, 
who,  leisurely  sipping  his  second  Scotch-and-soda, 
chatted  a  little  more  easily  with  his  hostess,  and  tried 
to  reestablish  himself  as  an  officer  and  a  gentleman. 

McClure  had  gone  out  to  see  that  none  of  the  pro 
vision  packs  had  been  tampered  with.  He  was  rather 
indolently  contemplating  the  greasy  mob  of  Benis  that 
came  scattering  back  from  hiding  to  cower  like 
whipped  dogs  from  the  idling  Yorubas.  They  paid  no 
attention  to  them,  but  munched  silently  upon  their 
rations  of  ship's  biscuits  and  salt  beef. 

Chief  Mora  was  not  among  those  who  came  back. 
No  one  expected  him  to  while  the  soldiers  were  there. 

205 


206  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

But  in  any  case  he  never  did. 

And  to  anticipate  a  little,  his  body  was  found  the 
following  day  in  the  underbrush  not  more  than  two 
miles  south  of  the  village,  and  it  was  evident  from  the 
condition  of  the  skull  that  death  had  been  instanta 
neous;  wherein  Mora  had  received  more  mercy  than 
he  had  often  given. 

No  one  knew  who  was  responsible  for  it ;  but  it  was 
a  generally  accepted  fact  that  Clavering  rarely  allowed 
a  fallen  chief  the  opportunity  of  throwing  himself 
upon  the  mercy  of  the  government. 

And  though  McClure  did  not  think  of  it  at  the  time, 
he  saw  a  small,  dark  red  spot — like  blood — upon  the 
sleeve  of  Chief  Cralla's  white  coat  when,  just  as  the 
shroud  of  night  was  swiftly  enveloping  the  earth,  the 
wily  Jackrie  gentleman  came  with  labored  majesty 
into  Basanna  from  the  north — the  direction  of  the 
Mayona  road. 

His  pace  was  much  slower  than  usual,  and  he  looked 
as  though  he  had  been  drinking.  Yet,  though  his  feet 
were  dusty,  his  apparel  was  quite  as  scrupulously  exact 
as  ever. 

The  presence  of  the  Yorubas  apparently  surprised 
him,  but  McClure's  palm-leaf  eye-shade  frightened  him 
still  more,  and  as  the  trader  approached  him,  Cralla's 
arms  rose  shrinkingly  in  a  pitiful  attitude  of  defense. 

It  was  then  that  McClure  saw  the  little  red  spot — 
like  blood. 

The  chief  appeared  to  be  very  much  disturbed  about 
v/hat  every  one  round  about  thought  of  his  situation, 
and  it  was  noticeable  that  though  the  Yorubas  deigned 
to  observe  and  enjoy  his  undignified  predicament,  not 
a  single  Jackrie  or  Beni  dared  to  be  even  interested  in 
it. 

But  McClure  did  not  menace  the  chief  in  any  way, 
principally  because  the  time  and  place  were  not  pro- 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  CHIEF        207 

pitious.     Later,  if  they  both  lived,  it  would  be  dif 
ferent. 

"Well,  chief,  what's  the  trouble?  I  think  you  live 
for  Mayona?" 

Cralla  lowered  his  arms  doubtfully. 

"Be  so,  Mas'  MaClu',  I  come  from  dere.  I  say  to 
myse'f,  if  Mas'  MaClu'  flog  me,  what  I  can  do?  If 
he  make  shoot  palaver  foh  me !"  Cralla  shrugged  his 
shoulders  hopelessly  and  resignedly.  "Be  all  same 
which  place  I  die — so  I  come  look  you  to  see  what 
palaver  you  make  foh  me.  Then  I  fit  to  sleep." 

In  other  words,  Cralla  wished  McClure  to  under 
stand  that  he  had  become  so  nervous  about  his  fate  at 
the  trader's  hands  that  he  could  not  sleep,  and  had 
come  from  Mayona  determined  to  settle  the  matter 
one  way  or  another. 

"You'  eye  hurt  plenty  too  much?"  he  queried 
anxiously. 

McClure  made  no  answer.  He  did  not  think  much 
of  Cralla' s  repentance,  and  did  not  believe  that  he  had 
come  from  Mayona  to  apologize  and  take  his  medicine. 

But  that  did  not  bother  the  chief  very  much.  A 
Jackrie  does  not  care  particularly  whether  he  is  be 
lieved  or  not  so  long  as  the  excuse  he  offers  serves  the 
purpose  of  saving  his  skin. 

"Mayona  no  good?"  McClure  asked  pointedly  as 
he  led  the  way  toward  Miss  Severoid's  hut. 

"Mayona  fine!"  Cralla  protested  at  once.  "I  come 
from  dere." 

McClure  grunted,  and  without  another  word  entered 
Miss  Severoid's  hut,  where  two  small  kerosene  lamps 
flickered  and  cast  black  shadows. 

Cralla  followed. 

Maybrick  wheeled  in  his  chair  so  sharply  that  it 
almost  collapsed,  and  Miss  Severoid,  starting  up  in 
surprise,  smothered  an  exclamation  and  sat  slowly 


208  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

down  again,  folding  her  hands  with  nervous  tightness 
in  her  lap. 

Ilora,  busying  herself  with  the  preparation  of  a 
canned-food  dinner,  showed  the  whites  of  her  eyes 
for  a  second,  then  slipped  into  the  shadows  as  if  afraid 
she  might  be  too  conspicuous. 

"Cralla's  come  to  make  his  peace  with  me,"  McClure 
announced.  "Says  he  can't  sleep  until  he  does.  The 
charge  against  him  is  that  of  whacking  me  over  the 
eyes  with  a  hippo-hide.  And  he  pleads  guilty. 
What'll  we  do  to  him,  Maybrick?" 

"Is  that  official  or  just  personal?"  the  lieutenant 
asked,  looking  Cralla  over  very  carefully. 

"Oh,  just  personal !" 

"Then  I  would  suggest,  under  the  circumstances, 
that  you  nurse  your  wrath  to  keep  it  warm.  Later 
you  might  hang  him  up  by  the  toes  and  keep  him  spin 
ning  round  while  you  larruped  the  soles  of  his  feet; 
or,  better  still,  tie  his  head  between  his  knees  and 
suspend  him  over  a  slow  fire.  Neither  would  be  ade 
quate,  but  they'd  help.  What  does  Miss  Severoid 
think?" 

Miss  Severoid  scarcely  heard.  She  was  not  listen 
ing  to  Maybrick.  All  her  attention  was  centered  upon 
Cralla,  who  plainly  avoided  meeting  her  puzzled  scru 
tiny,  and  gave  all  his  attention  to  Maybrick  and  Mc 
Clure,  fawning  upon  them  and  trying  to  look  as  though 
he  enjoyed  being  there. 

Miss  Severoid  met  Maybrick's  inquiry  with  an  apolo 
getic  smile. 

"I'm  afraid  I  wasn't  listening.     What  did  you  say?" 

"It's  too  bloodthirsty  to  repeat,  but  we've  decided 
that  Cralla  is  to  have  another  chance  for  the  present." 
Then  to  Cralla :  "Palaver  set,  chief.  Squattez  vous* 
Have  a  drink?" 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  CHIEF        209 

Cralla  grinned  and  sat  down  upon  a  mat,  folding  his 
legs  under  him  like  the  blades  of  a  pocket-knife;  and 
McClure,  calling  Plymouth,  ordered  him  to  serve  more 
drinks. 

Outside  the  night  was  black  as  ink.  The  low,  mur 
muring  whine  of  Mora's  children,  huddling  affright- 
edly  together  in  their  squalor,  mingled  with  the  drone 
of  the  Yorubas  who  were  gathered  about  the  small  fire 
they  had  built  for  cooking  purposes. 

The  atmosphere  in  the  hut  was  suffocatingly  humid. 
Glancing  into  Maybrick's ,  face  inquiringly,  to  gain  a 
hint  of  his  intentions,  Miss  Severoid  was  a  little  afraid 
that  his  Scotch-and-soda  had  been  too  much  Scotch. 
There  was  an  uneasy  recklessness  in  his  eyes  that  was 
disturbing,  particularly  in  view  of  the  story  she  had 
told  him. 

Seated  upon  an  upturned  packing-case,  McClure  said 
nothing.  He  just  stroked  his  mustache,  drank  slowly, 
and  watched. 

Cralla  took  his  whisky  neat  and  at  a  gulp. 

"Be  good,"  he  declared,  reluctantly  lowering  his 
glass.  "Jackrie  man  like  um  too  much." 

Maybrick  grinned  in  approval. 

"And  you  be  big  man  in  Jackrie  country,  no  be  so?" 

"Eh— heh!"  Cralla  agreed  emphatically.  "I  be 
chief  of  Akerri.  You  savvy  Akerri  ?" 

"I  savvy.  All  men  savvy  Akerri.  Chief  Cralla  live 
dere."  Cralla  and  the  lieutenant  grinned  with  one 
accord.  "And  I  savvy  Chief  Cralla  be  proper  man. 
He  be  proper  friend  foh  the  gov'ment,  too,  no  be 
so?" 

"Be  so !  I  be  frien'  foh  gov'ment  all  the  time.  I.  be 
frien'  of  Nige'  Comp'ny  and  I  be  frien'  of  Englan' 
man.  I  savvy  gov'ment  palaver  too  much.  When 
black  man  make  palaver  foh  gov'ment  black  man  die, 


210  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

dat's  all.  I  no  wanta  die.  When  I  die!  Ee-yaw! 
Yella!  Yella!  Yella!" 

Cralla  took  his  head  in  his  hands  and  shook  it  dole 
fully,  moaning  and  making  noises  with  his  tongue  like 
a  clucking  hen.  Miss  Severoid,  watching  him  very 
intently,  clasped  her  hands  the  tighter  in  her  lap  for 
fear  she  would  applaud.  She  knew  good  acting  when 
she  saw  it. 

"Good!"  Maybrick  approved.  "Gov'ment  savvy 
Chief  Cralla  be  fine  man.  Have  another  drink.  Boy, 
bring  Chief  Cralla  another  drink.  It's  not  my  whisky, 
so  it  doesn't  matter." 

He  laughed  toward  McClure,  who  smiled  and  nod 
ded  to  Plymouth. 

Cralla  accepted  the  invitation  readily  enough,  dis 
posed  of  the  second  drink  as  he  had  done  the  first,  then 
looked  to  Maybrick  for  the  reason  for  it  all. 

He  learned  it  quickly  enough. 

"If  I  take  Yoruba  man  to  Mayona  palaver  live?" 

Cralla  shrugged  his  shoulders  indifferently. 

"I  no  savvy.  Chief  Tomi  of  Mayona  be  my  frien'. 
Some  time  my  frien'  be  fool,  and  I  t'ink  he  be  wise 
man.  If  Chief  Tomi  be  fool,  be  my  palaver?  Whatta 
matter  you  take  Yoruba  man  to  Mayona?" 

Maybrick  explained  that  he  had  no  particular  object 
in  view  in  taking  the  Yorubas  to  Mayona;  that  he 
merely  wished  to  give  Miss  Severoid  a  safe  escort, 
and  that  he  was  anxious  to  learn  before  allowing  her 
to  go  any  farther  what  was  likely  to  be  the  temper  of 
the  country  in  the  north,  particularly  after  the  fall  of 
Mora. 

Which  was  a  plausible  explanation  enough,  but 
which  had  no  bearing  on  Maybrick's  real  intentions. 

Cralla  pondered  the  matter  for  a  little  while,  and 
then  delivered  himself  of  the  opinion  that,  though  he 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  CHIEF         211 

did  not  believe  there  would  be  any  hostility,  the  sight 
of  the  Yorubas  would  be  sure  to  indicate  warlike  inten 
tions  upon  the  part  of  the  government.  Chief  Tomi 
was  a  belligerent  individual  who  had  to  be  handled 
with  gloves. 

Maybrick  knew  that,  and  it  is  not  an  officer's  duty 
to  make  trouble,  but  to  avoid  it.  This  was  why  he  was 
feeling  out  the  ground  carefully,  with  an  unhappy  sus 
picion  that  Cralla  was  not  the  friend  of  the  govern 
ment  he  professed  to  be. 

But  Clavering  was  in  the  north — had  said  he  would 
meet  Miss  Severoid  again  at  Mayona — and  that  was 
a  promise  too  tempting  to  resist.  Dale  and  Forrester 
with  their  companies  could  not  possibly  be  up  earlier 
than  a  day  and  a  half,  and,  as  Maybrick  expressed  it  to 
himself,  "a  deuce  of  a  lot  can  happen  in  that  time." 

He  might  actually  be  safer  and  possibly  surer  of 
success  if  he  did  leave  the  Yorubas  behind  at  Bassana, 
where  they  could  wait  for  the  Dale  and  Forrester  con 
tingent  and  come  forward  to  Mayona  in  a  short  night 
march  whenever  he,  Maybrick,  said  he  was  ready  for 
them. 

It  was  a  dangerous  expedient,  and  there  was  nothing 
very  definite  about  its  possibilities ;  but  it  had  the  vir 
tue  of  being  less  demonstrative  and  less  suspicious  than 
any  other  of  which  the  Lieutenant  could  think  just 
then.  He  was  also  reasonably  convinced  of  the  fact 
that  the  man  who  caught  Clavering  in  a  net  would 
have  to  go  about  the  business  very  quietly  indeed. 

"All  right,  Cralla.  I  savvy  you  be  frien'  foh  gov'- 
ment,  so  we'll  leave  the  Yoruba  man  at  Basanna.  I'll 
come  and  say  chin-chin  to  Chief  Tomi  myself.  Be  all 
right?" 

Cralla  nodded  sagely,  and  McClure  and  Miss  Sever 
oid  exchanged  disapproving  glances  as  the  chief  ac- 


212  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

cepted  his  third  drink.  Almost  immediately  he  became 
loquacious  and  somewhat  confused,  even  to  mingling 
Jackrie  with  his  pidgin  English. 

The  sum  of  his  remarks  was — nothing,  though  May- 
brick  waited  patiently  and  plied  him  hopefully  with  a. 
fourth  drink.  This  only  succeeded  in  making  Cralla 
descend  to  the  Sobo  and  Ejau  jargons. 

Maybrick  and  McClure  both  knew  a  little  Jackrie, 
and  the  trader  knew  enough  Sobo  to  do  business  with 
it;  but  the  Ejau  tongue  was  a  closed  book  to  him. 
When  Cralla's  head  began  to  roll  and  a  stream  of 
harsh  Ejau  gutturals  poured  forth  it  was  doubtful 
whether  he  was  blessing  or  cursing  them. 

It  sounded  like  a  malediction.     Ejau  always  does. 

But  Ilora,  preparing  an  improvised  table  of  deal 
boards  slung  across  two  packing-cases,  knew  what  he 
meant  and,  even  as  she  worked,  caught  every  word 
of  it. 

"Send  runner  to  Chief  Tomi  and  tell  him  govern 
ment  man  comes  to  say  chin-chin.  He  comes  alone. 
Mora  was  a  fool  and  is  dead.  Tomi,  take  warning. 
If  Tomi  is  quiet,  Tomi  will  live  a  long  time.  If  he  is 
a  fool,  like  government  man,  both  will  die  quickly. 
When  the  white  mammy's  purpose  has  been  served 
then  may  Tomi  fight  and  hurl  the  white  man  into  the 
pit." 

Cralla's  chin  fell  slowly  on  to  his  breast,  and  his 
voice  trailed  away  into  frothy,  unintelligible  mutter- 
ings  that  finally  ceased  altogether. 

And  as  Ilora,  whose  comings  and  goings  from  the 
hut  had  been  frequent  and  necessary,  slipped  out  into 
the  night  and  sent  the  message  word  for  word  as  she 
had  received  it,  Maybrick,  with  a  halting  apology  to 
Miss  Severoid,  went  to  the  door  of  the  hut  and,  call 
ing  his  two  orderlies,  ordered  them  to  "take  this 
drunken  beast  out." 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  CHIEF        213 

Which  they  did,  and  by  no  means  gently,  dumping 
the  limp  and  apparently  whisky-numbed  chief  into  the 
midst  of  his  carriers  like  a  sack  of  yams. 

But  Cralla  had  one  eye  open,  and  he  had  a  good 
memory  for  faces. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE    PLOT 

MAYBRICK  took  his  two  orderlies  with  him  to  May- 
ona.  They  were  the  Yorubas  who  had  treated  Cralla 
like  a  sack  of  yams,  and  Cralla  knew  it. 

But  neither  Cralla  nor  McClure  knew  anything 
about  the  two  companies  of  Yorubas  that  were  coming 
on  from  Saloko  to  join  Maybrick's  company  at  Ba- 
sanna  and  make  a  night  march  to  Mayona  when  neces 
sary,  it  being  Maybrick's  intention  to  delay  Miss  Sev- 
eroid's  expedition  at  Mayona  upon  one  pretext  and 
another  until  he  had  discovered  Clavering's  where 
abouts  and  was  in  a  position  to  act  with  decision  in 
the  matter. 

And,  whether  Clavering  were  caught  or  not,  Miss 
Severoid's  expedition  was  not  to  go  any  farther  than 
Mayona.  Benin  City  had  no  place  in  Maybrick's 
plans. 

Of  the  march  to  Mayona  there  is  little  to  record. 
The  start  was  delayed  by  a  two-hour  thunder-plump, 
and  when  they  finally  got  under  way  everybody  was 
sweltering  and  swearing  except  Miss  Severoid,  who 
had  not  been  long  enough  in  the  country. 

Then,  when  they  had  gone  several  miles  and  were 
sticky  and  miserable  and  gasping  for  something  to 
drink,  one  of  the  carriers  inconsiderately  contracted 
blackwater  fever,  and  his  brethren  threatened  to  desert 
like  scared  rats. 

But  Cralla  held  them  in  check  and  made  them  dig 
214 


THE  PLOT  215 

a   shallow,   marshy  hole   with  their   machetes.     The 
grave  was  ready  half  an  hour  before  the  victim  died. 

In  spite  of  the  curse  of  prickly  heat  that  made  him 
want  to  revert  to  the  costume  of  Adam,  Maybrick  did 
his  best  to  assure  Miss  Severoid  that  the  few  hours' 
delay  meant  nothing  at  all.  But  McClure,  still  wear 
ing  his  eye-shade,  stood  heavily  by  and  said  very  little. 
Usually  when  black  water  came  among  a  body  of  na 
tives  it  was  epidemic,  because  it  was  engendered  by 
the  indiscriminate  drinking  of  swamp-water.  The 
time  was  near  when  the  trader  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  watching  his  breakwater  in  the  mornings  to  learn 
who  was  missing;  when  the  bush  paths  became  a 
graveyard  for  those  who  lay  where  they  fell,  and  when 
the  wailing  dirge  of  the  women  who  mourned  came 
across  the  water  almost  every  hour  for  days — weeks 
sometimes — till  the  Grim  Reaper  seemed  to  grow  tired 
of  the  sound  and  took  his  scythe  elsewhere. 

However,  Mayona  was  reached  early  in  the  after 
noon  without  further  casualties,  though  the  knees  of 
most  of  the  carriers  were  bent  shakingly  forward. 
When  Cralla  had  herded  them  into  Chief  Tomi's  com 
pound  at  the  end  of  a  coiling  hippo-thong  they  col 
lapsed,  whining  and  shivering  away  from  each  other, 
every  man  watching  his  neighbor  for  the  dread  sign  of 
the  death  that  had  come  among  them. 

The  hammock  bearers,  led  by  Ilora,  carried  Miss 
Severoid  around  to  a  hut  immediately  behind  Chief 
Tomi's  mud  palace.  As  McClure  and  Plymouth  fol 
lowed,  Maybrick  and  Cralla  halted  to  bestow  a  search 
ing  glance  upon  the  fear-stricken  carriers  and  to  hold 
a  peace  palaver  with  the  lynx-eyed  Tomi,  who  waddled 
out  to  bid  them  an  oily  welcome  in  the  gala  attire  of 
a  two-piece  print-cloth  and  a  cheaper  gray  shirt. 

Not  that  TOHII  could  not  afford  better  clothing,  but, 
like  Uriah  Heep,  he  preferred  to  be  "  'umble."  He 


216  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

had  acquired  much  surplus  fat  in  an  otiose  life  that  had 
led  him,  with  scarcely  any  trouble  at  all,  through  rivers 
of  other  men's  blood.  And  he  had  enjoyed  himself 
immensely.  He  bubbled  over  with  good  humor,  and 
the  more  he  bubbled  the  more  devilish  he  became. 

As  he  greeted  Maybrick  with  an  unctuous  grin  and 
offered  his  hand  white-man  fashion,  to  show  that  he 
was  a  friend  of  the  government,  he  was  apparently 
very  happy  to  meet  the  lieutenant  and  his  two  Yoru- 
bas. 

But,  then,  Yorubas  are  such  splendid  sport — when 
there  are  but  two  of  them  and  those  two  are  unarmed. 
One  can  use  them  as  targets  when  one  wants  to  prac 
tise  with  the  white  man's  weapons,  shooting  low,  of 
course,  so  as  not  fatally  to  injure  the  little  brown  men. 
They  can  afterward  be  crucified  for  the  delectation  of 
the  masses,  it  being  definitely  understood  that  the  Beni 
masses  will  be  sure  to  like  anything  a  Yoruba  doesn't. 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  Tomi's  natural  inclinations,  the 
evidence  of  Clavering's  uncanny  influence  was  again 
apparent.  There  was  but  little  curiosity  upon  the  part 
of  Mayona's  greasy  population,  and  no  sign  of  hos 
tility. 

Stuffy  and  filthy  and  noxious,  and  quiet  as  a  Sunday 
afternoon  at  home,  Mayona  was  just  a  slightly  larger 
repetition  of  Basanna.  After  Maybrick  had  delivered 
a  message  which  had  supposedly  come  direct  from  the 
Great  White  Queen  to  Chief  Tomi  of  Mayona,  the 
lieutenant  sauntered  toward  Miss  Severoid's  quarters, 
conscious  of  the  fact  that  if  he  cared  to  search  Chief 
Tomi's  dwelling  he  could  unearth  sufficient  proof  of 
the  chief's  affiliation  with  Clavering  to  warrant  an 
execution  without  the  bother  of  a  trial. 

But  Maybrick  did  not  care  whether  he  caught  Tomi 
napping  or  not.  He  was  hunting  bigger  game. 

Cralla  and  Tomi  watched  his  idling  gait  till  he  dis- 


THE  PLOT  217 

appeared  behind  the  latter  chief's  hut  with  the  Yoru- 
bas  trailing  him  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Then  Tomi  whispered  in  Beni : 

"Is  he  a  fool  that  he  comes  to  mock  me  with  but  two 
of  the  accursed  ?" 

"Two  throats  are  quicker  cut  than  a  hundred." 
Cralla  returned  dryly  in  the  same  jargon.  "But  not 
now.  When  the  white  mammy's  purpose  has  been 
served — that  was  my  message.  Is  Tomi  a  fool  or  a 
friend?" 

Tomi's  good  humor  vanished  at  once,  and  he  be 
came  very  unhappy  because  it  was  decreed  that  two 
perfectly  good  Yorubas  were  to  slip  through  his  fin 
gers.  Therefore,  he  sniveled  and,  figuratively  at  least, 
groveled  at  Cralla's  feet  as  the  chief  of  Akerri  led  the 
way  toward  the  hut  of  his  host. 

In  Miss  Severoid's  quarters,  which  were  again 
marked  by  Clavering's  consideration  for  the  more  gen 
tle  needs  of  a  lady,  Maybrick  found  McClure  assuring 
her  that  he  did  not  think  that  the  blackwater  among 
the  carriers  would  become  epidemic. 

"I  don't  think  it  will,  either,"  the  lieutenant  chimed 
in,  supporting  the  lie  amiably  enough.  "But  I  think 
we'd  better  wait  a  day  or  two  so  that  we  can  be  sure 
of  it  before  we  go  any  farther.  You'd  be  in  a  deuce 
of  a  fix  if  a  few  of  them  went  under  between  this 
place  and  Tulami,  because  the  rest  would  bolt  and 
Cralla  would  not  be  able  to  bring  them  back  this  time. 
They'd  say  your  expedition  was  a  juju.  Let's  wait  a 
couple  of  days  anyway,  and  see  what  happens." 

In  which  advice  there  was  much  subtle  wisdom.  It 
was  not  only  practical  and  considerate,  but  it  princi 
pally  served  Maybrick's  purpose  to  encourage  delay. 

McClure  nodded  thoughtfully,  partly  because  he  be 
lieved  there  was  some  merit  in  the  lieutenant's  propo 
sal,  and  greatly  because  he  had  not  given  up  hope  that 


218  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

Miss  Severoid  would  come  to  her  senses  in  time.  But 
Miss  Severoid,  to  whom  delays  were  as  knife-thrusts, 
did  not  appreciate  the  threat  of  another.  As  at  all 
times  when  things  showed  a  tendency  to  go  wrong, 
she  instantly  wished  she  could  talk  to  Clavering  and 
ask  his  advice. 

Furthermore,  she  wished  to  warn  him  that  Maybrick 
knew  of  the  possibility  of  his  being  in  Mayona. 

Consequently,  immediately  after  the  usual  canned- 
food  dinner,  at  which  McClure  tried  to  take  a  large 
view  of  life  while  Maybrick  was  forcing  himself  to  be 
amusing,  she  became  very  sleepy  and  told  the  gentle 
men  that  she  thought  she  would  retire.  The  moment 
she  was  alone  she  scribbled  upon  a  scrap  of  white 
wrapping  paper : 

I'd  like  to  talk  to  you,  if  I  could,  but  I  told  Lieutenant  May- 
brick  about  your  being  so  good  to  me  at  Basanna.  That's  why 
he  didn't  take  us  all  back  to  Saloko.  So  please  be  very  careful. 

He  says  we  can't  go  on  for  a  few  days  because  some  of  the 
carriers  may  die.  Please  help  me  to  get  away  from  him.  He's 
doing  his  best  not  to  make  love  to  me,  but  that  won't  last,  and  I 
can't  be  mean  to  him  without  offending  the  government. 

Which  was  not  altogether  fair  to  Maybrick,  who  had 
striven  to  be  entertaining  at  dinner  so  that  she  might 
not  guess  that  two  more  carriers  were  hastening  to 
ward  a  scooped-out  grave  as  fast  as  blackwater  fever 
would  carry  them. 

A  few  of  the  others  had  fled,  showing  their  teeth  and 
the  whites  of  their  eyes  in  the  grip  of  a  terror  which 
nothing  could  subdue ;  and  they  would  keep  on  and  on 
till  they  dropped  from  sheer  exhaustion,  or  until  the 
death  they  were  fleeing  from  overtook  them  and  pulled 
them  down,  writhing,  in  their  tracks. 

As  Miss  Severoid  folded  the  note  and  gave  it  to 
Ilora,  with  cautious  instructions  to  deliver  it  to  Cralla 
and  thence  to  Clavering,  both  Maybrick  and  McClure 


THE  PLOT  219 

were  groping  their  way  toward  Tomi's  compound  in 
search  of  later  information  regarding  the  carriers. 

One  of  the  Yorubas  preceded  them  with  a  hurricane 
lantern;  the  other,  with  a  purpose  in  view,  assisted 
Plymouth  in  standing  guard  before  the  door  of  Miss 
Severoid's  hut. 

But  Ilora  paid  no  heed  to  them  as,  sullen  and  obe 
dient,  she  slipped  out  to  deliver  the  note  to  Clavering 
by  way  of  Cralla.  When  she  returned,  barely  half  an 
hour  later,  bearing  a  neatly  folded  reply,  Miss  Sever- 
oid,  who  had  been  listening  in  chilly  solitude  and  deso 
lation  to  the  eery  meanings  of  the  carriers,  sprang  up 
to  meet  the  Jackrie  girl  with  a  demonstration  of  wel 
come  that  was  not  far  from  hysteria. 

Her  nerves  were  approaching  that  ragged  stage 
when  little  things  become  colossal  and  big  things  are 
too  large  to  be  understood;  and  the  speed  with  which 
Ilora  had  returned  was  an  incomprehensible  mystery. 

She  made  no  effort  to  account  for  Clavering's  near 
ness.  Carrying  his  answer  hastily  to  the  feeble  light 
of  her  lamp,  she  discovered  that  there  were  two  mes 
sages,  both  of  which  she  devoured  greedily. 

The  first  read : 

DEAR  Miss  SEVEROID  : 

Let  Ilora  bring  you  to  a  place  she  knows  as  soon  as  you  are 
able  to  get  away  from  the  others.  Don't  be  afraid,  and  don't 
hesitate,  because  I  can't  wait  very  long.  It  is  imperative  that  you 
see  me,  else  I  would  not  bother  you. 

CLAVERING. 

And  the  other : 

Show  Maybrick  the  other  note  and  say  to  him  that  you  were 
afraid  to  meet  me  and  yet  afraid  to  refuse.  He'll  be  sure  to 
help  you.  No  harm  will  come  to  him.  G.  C. 

They  were  not  very  quieting  replies,  inasmuch  as 
they  suggested  treachery  so  deliberately  that  Miss  Sev- 


220  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

eroid  shrank  from  the  part  she  was  asked  to  play. 
But  Benin  City  and  the  realization  of  her  hopes  were 
so  near  that  the  sensation  of  squeamishness  was  soon 
lost  in  her  feverish  desire  to  go  on,  driving  through 
every  obstacle  to  her  goal. 

And  she  had  already  climbed  several  erstwhile  im 
passable  barriers  in  traveling  from  London  to  Mayona. 

As  she  absently  tore  Clavering's  second  note  into 
very  small  pieces,  the  expression  upon  her  face  de 
clared  that  her  thoughts  were  not  upon  the  writer,  but 
that  they  had  drifted  out  into  the  opaque  darkness, 
and  were  centered  upon  something  that  made  her  eyes 
more  luminous  than  ever  and  her  lips  a  soft,  quiver 
ing  temptation  that  even  a  misanthrope  could  not  have 
resisted. 

Then,  suddenly  awakening  from  these  idle  dreams, 
she  hastily  scribbled  another  note — to  Maybrick  this 
time. 

LIEUTENANT  MAYBWCK: 

Please  come  and  see  me  at  once.  I  have  something  very  im 
portant  to  tell  you.  But  don't  bring  Mr.  McClure. 

Miss  S. 

When  Ilora,  sneering  evilly  under  cover  of  the  dark 
ness,  slipped  that  very  small  scrap  of  paper  into  May- 
brick's  hand,  he  started  and  spun  round  on  his  heel  like 
a  top.  But  the  girl,  per  instructions,  had  been  careful 
to  wait  until  McClure  had  directed  his  attention  to  a 
groaning  carrier  who  was  suffering  under  the  posses 
sion  of  an  active  imagination. 

"Sof'ly,"  she  whispered  cautiously,  and  slipped 
noiselessly  away  again.  The  lieutenant,  suppressing 
an  exclamation  and  an  impulse  to  ask  questions,  speed 
ily  adjusted  his  mind  to  the  situation,  and  at  once 
found  an  opportunity  to  read  Miss  Severoid's  message. 
It  surprised  and  puzzled  him  still  more. 


THE  PLOT  221 

Then,  as  he  glanced  guiltily  in  McClure's  direction, 
the  rotund  figure  of  Chief  Tomi  came  out  of  the  murk 
and  halted  at  McClure's  side.  The  chief  remained 
jabbering  to  McClure  in  a  mixture  of  Beni  and  pidgin- 
English,  evidently  intent  upon  helping  him  to  keep  the 
panic  from  spreading  beyond  the  ranks  of  the  carriers. 
There  was  no  sign  of  Cralla. 

Had  Maybrick  known  that  Tomi  was  occupying 
McClure's  attention  for  a  purpose  and  a  price,  the 
lieutenant  would  undoubtedly  have  hesitated  a  little 
longer  than  he  did.  As  it  was,  he  hesitated  barely  a 
minute,  and  in  a  very  few  more  he  was  standing  before 
Miss  Severoid  in  her  ill-lit,  shadow-filled  hut,  expect 
antly  waiting  for  her  to  speak. 

Ilora  had  remained  outside  and  was  regarding  May- 
brick's  Yorubas  with  sullen  resentment  because  they 
ignored  her  and  talked  in  a  language  she  did  not 
understand.  Squatting  upon  a  mat  upon  the  other 
side  of  the  door  and  puffing  laboriously  upon  a  cheap 
and  squeaky  pipe  filled  with  cheaper  hogshead  tobacco, 
Plymouth  ogled  up  at  her  through  the  smoke,  only  to 
be  served  by  the  girl  as  she  was  served  by  the  Yorubas. 

"He  wants  me  to  meet  him,"  Miss  Severoid  began 
timidly,  looking  innocently  up  into  Maybrick's  troubled 
face;  "and  I'm  afraid  to.  But  I  thought  perhaps 
you'd—" 

"You  mean—" 

"Sh!" 

They  both  looked  about  them  furtively,  and  then 
Maybrick's  glance  met  Miss  Severoid's  in  perfect  un 
derstanding.  At  least  he  thought  so,  and  he  felt  a 
little  ashamed  of  himself  for  having  left  one  of  his 
Yorubas  at  her  door  to  spy  upon  her. 

"McClure's  so  hasty,"  she  whispered  hurriedly. 
"He'd  be  sure  to  shoot,  and  there  mustn't  be  any  of 
that  unless  it's  desperately  necessary.  I  don't  know 


222  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

what  he  can  possibly  want  to  see  me  for,  but — but  it 
may  be  something  important,  and  he  was  so  good  tQ 
me  at  Basanna  that  I'd  feel  mean  if  I  refused  to  go. 
Of  course,  I  know  I  shouldn't  meet  him.  That's  com 
pounding  a  felony  or  something,  isn't  it  ?  And  that's 
why  I'm  telling  you  about  it  first  to  see  if  you'd  allow 
it.  Couldn't  you  follow  me  at  a  safe  distance  and — 
and  just  sort  of  take  care  of  me  without — oh,  well — I 
don't  want  him  arrested  yet,  because  he  may  be — use 
ful." 

Maybrick's  lips  twitched  and  broke  in  a  friendly 
smile.  Just  then  he  admired  Miss  Severoid  more  than 
he  ever  had,  partly  because  of  the  temptingly  racy  little 
twinkle  in  her  eyes,  but  greatly  because  she  had  sense 
enough  and  courage  enough  to  appreciate  that  a  man 
like  Clavering  could  be  very  useful  upon  such  a  ven 
ture  as  that  upon  which  she  was  bent.  He  also  experi 
enced  a  pleasant  thrill  in  the  thought  that  she  had  con 
fided  in  him  in  preference  to  McClure. 

But  he  had  not  the  least  intention  of  allowing  Clav 
ering  to  be  at  liberty  one  minute  longer  than  was 
necessary,  feeling  sure  that,  whether  Miss  Severoid 
thought  so  or  not,  he  would  be  doing  her  a  great  kind 
ness  by  putting  an  end  to  the  Benin  City  tomfoolery 
as  quickly  as  possible. 

He  did  not  tell  her  so,  however. 

"When  have  you  to  meet  him?"  he  asked  in  a  low 
monotone. 

"Now — at  once." 

"Where?" 

"I  don't  know.  My  girl  does.  That  is  what  makes 
it  so  suspicious." 

Miss  Severoid  always  tried  to  mingle  the  truth  and 
prevarication,  so  that  the  lie  would  agree  with  what 
the  other  person  was  likely  to  think  of  the  truth. 

Maybrick's  lips  drew  a  little  tighter.     He  was  try- 


THE  PLOT  223 

ing  to  be  official  and  to  study  Miss  Severoid's  eyes  and 
lips  at  the  same  time,  with  most  uncertain  results. 

"I  see,"  he  said  quietly,  and  then  tried  to  calm  her 
fears.  "But  that  isn't  anything  very  suspicious.  He 
has  friends  among  the  natives  everywhere.  That  girl 
of  yours  is  simply  doing  as  she's  told.  She  may  never 
have  seen  him  before  and  may  never  see  him  again. 
Cralla  would  do  the  same  thing.  Any  of  them  would, 
and  we  know  it.  It's  a  pity,  though,  that  you  sent  her 
to  me  with  that  note.  She  may — " 

He  put  his  fingers  to  his  lips,  tiptoed  to  the  door  of 
the  hut,  and,  looking  out,  was  apparently  satisfied  to 
find  that  Ilora  was  still  there. 

Miss  Severoid  had  to  restrain  an  impulse  to  laugh 
outright,  and,  as  he  came  softly  back  again,  she  ac 
tually  felt  sorry  for  him ;  so  much  so  that  the  sensation 
of  squeamishness  came  back  to  her. 

"She's  outside,"  Maybrick  whispered.  "If  she 
goes  away  from  there,  or  has  already  been  away  even 
for  a  minute,  my  orderlies  will  tell  me.  How  did  his 
message  come?" 

Miss  Severoid  produced  a  crumpled  note  from  her 
blouse  and,  looking  cautiously  about  her,  slipped  it  into 
Maybrick' s  hand. 

"Ilora  brought  it,"  she  confessed.  "And  I've  been 
afraid  of  her  ever  since." 

Maybrick  accepted  the  note  without  a  word,  carried 
it  to  the  lamp  and  read  and  reread  it,  feeling  quite  sure 
that  Miss  Severoid  must  think  a  great  deal  of  him  to 
confide  in  him  so  much. 

Then  slowly  tearing  it  up,  he  moved  to  her  side 
again  and  looked  down  upon  her  with  the  eye  of  a  man 
who  is  seeking  after  truth. 

His  official  attitude  had  entirely  given  way  to  the 
other  one. 

"You  can  trust  me  to  take  care  of  you  ?"  he  asked 


224  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

softly,  by  way  of  experiment.  "Better  than  Mc- 
Clure?" 

And  he  found  that  her  eyes  would  not  meet  his. 
Her  lashes  swept  her  cheeks  and  her  head  was  bowed 
a  little.  Vague  murmurings  and  meanings  came  from 
without,  but  Maybrick  scarcely  heard  them. 

"You  know  I  do,"  he  heard  her  whisper.  He  did 
not  know  that,  in  spite  of  the  seriousness  of  everything, 
she  was  praying  to  Heaven  to  save  her  from  laughter. 

There  was  a  short,  uncomfortable  pause. 

Maybrick  did  not  know  what  to  do  or  say.  He 
moistened  his  lips,  squared  his  shoulders,  fidgeted  with 
the  butt  of  his  revolver,  and  laughed — a  forced,  nerv 
ous  sound  that  was  rather  stupid. 

"Good  little  woman,"  he  mumbled,  and  his  fingers 
touched  her  arms.  She  could  feel  them  tremble  and 
tighten;  the  uncertain  fingers  of  one  who  was  about  to 
make  a  grievous  mistake.  "Good  little  wo — " 

"Don't!" 

The  word  was  low  and  imperative,  and  as  Miss  Sev- 
eroid's  head  came  up  slowly,  Maybrick  caught  the  look 
in  her  eyes  and  understood  perfectly.  He  tried  to 
smile  and  the  effect  was  ghastly. 

"Oh — er — well — of  course — "  He  backed  away  a 
step  or  two,  very  ill  at  ease.  "You — that  is — I'll  fol 
low  you — bring  my  orderlies — nothing  to  be  afraid  of. 
I— er — that  is — oh,  damn!  Don't  look  at  me  like 
that!" 

But  Miss  Severoid  only  laughed,  and  the  look  that 
had  bared  Maybrick's  guilty  soul  laughed,  too,  in  an 
enigmatical  sort  of  way  that  made  him  feel  decidedly 
more  foolish. 

"That's  better,"  she  told  him  in  a  very  soft  voice. 
"I  like  to  hear  a  man  swear — sometimes.  Now,  please 
go.  We  haven't  any  more  time  to  lose." 

And  Maybrick,  mumbling  an  incoherent  apology, 


THE  PLOT  225 

went  srteepishly,  feeling  somewhat  dazed  and  mystified, 
and  having  a  sensation  that  he  was  lucky  to  be  let  down 
so  lightly. 

A  few  minutes  later  Miss  Severoid,  a  little  white 
about  the  corners  of  the  mouth,  blew  out  her  lamp, 
and  climbing  through  the  low  window-hole  facing  the 
rear — so  that  Plymouth  might  not  have  a  tale  to  carry 
to  his  master — she  tiptoed  after  Ilora,  past  darkened 
huts  and  the  sleeping  forms  of  natives  lying  outside 
their  doors  into  a  bush-path  that  led,  so  far  as  Miss 
Severoid  knew,  into  an  impenetrable  blackness,  and 
nothing  more. 

Maybrick  and  his  orderlies  followed  at  a  careful 
distance. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

METHOD   IN    HIS    MADNESS 

IN  a  square-built,  single-roomed  hut  that  stood  alone 
in  the  center  of  a  small  clearing  about  a  mile  and  a 
half  from  the  village,  Clavering  sat  in  solitary  state  in 
the  comfortable  depths  of  a  collapsible  deck-chair  and 
blew  thin  streams  of  cigarette  smoke  toward  the 
ceiling. 

The  hut  was  of  medium  size,  and  was  just  then 
undecidedly  illuminated  by  a  large  stand-lamp  which 
had  been  turned  low  and  which  stood  very  near  to  one 
of  the  windows,  throwing  the  greater  part  of  the  place 
in  deep  shadows.  There  were  native  mats  on  the  floor 
and  others  that  made  shades  for  the  windows,  of  which 
there  were  two.  The  door  was  also  similarly  screened, 
making  the  hut  unbearably  stuffy. 

A  small  wicker  table  at  Clavering's  elbow  and  a  light 
Madeira  chair  completed  the  furnishings,  since  the 
black,  tarpaulin-covered  carrier's  pack  that  lay  in 
obscurity  in  the  most  shadowy  corner  of  the  room 
could  not  be  considered  as  furniture. 

Clavering's  attitude  was  one  of  dreamy  idleness. 
He  appeared  to  be  watching  a  dun-colored  lizard  on 
the  wall  opposite  as  though  there  were  nothing  more 
important  to  occupy  his  attention.  To  the  buzz  and 
the  whistle  of  numberless  and  nameless  insects  he  paid 
no  heed,  and  the  mosquitoes  and  sandflies  bothered 
him  not  at  all. 

He  stirred  only  when  an  intruding  mango-fly  threat- 
226 


METHOD  IN  HIS  MADNESS  227 

ened  him,  and  having  successfully  swatted  the  pest,  he 
sat  down  again,  a  little  annoyed  at  having  been  dis 
turbed. 

He  was  clothed,  as  Miss  Severoid  had  first  seen  him, 
in  a  light-blue  shirt,  riding-breeches,  and  puttees,  and 
his  heavy  walking  boots  hinted  at  the  fact  that  he  had 
done  some  recent  and  considerable  tramping. 

He  carried  no  revolver.  His  shirt  sleeves  were 
rolled  up  to  the  elbows,  displaying  his  sinewy  brown 
forearms,  and  though  his  face  was  even  paler  and 
leaner  than  usual,  there  was  a  softer  set  to  his  thin- 
lipped  mouth  as  from  the  smothering  gloom  without 
there  came  to  his  alert  and  sensitive  ears  the  whisper 
ing  rustle  of  skirts. 

Three  faint  streaks  of  light  in  the  midst  of  nothing 
ness  was  Miss  Severoid's  impression  of  the  hut  as  she 
emerged  from  the  bush  path  in  Ilora's  wake  and  en 
tered  the  clearing.  There  might  have  been  a  thousand 
men  in  the  bush  around  for  all  that  she  could  see  or 
hear. 

Maybrick  and  his  two  Yorubas  did  not  follow  her 
into  the  clearing  at  once.  They  halted  several  yards 
from  the  end  of  the  bush  path,  and  huddling  closely 
together,  watched  Miss  Severoid  and  Ilora  disappear 
within  the  hut.  Then,  as  the  door-screen  fell  into 
place  behind  them,  Maybrick  crouched,  went  on  a  few 
steps,  and  as  the  outlines  of  the  hut  became  clearer, 
descended  to  his  hands  and  knees. 

The  Yorubas  followed  suit.  One  of  them  crept 
away  toward  the  streak  of  light  on  the  right,  the  other 
to  the  left;  each  making  for  a  window,  and  each,  in 
lieu  of  any  other  weapon,  gripping  the  broad-bladed 
wrist-knife  of  the  upper  Niger. 

Maybrick's  objective  was  the  door.  There  was  no 
other  outlet,  and  the  lieutenant,  judging  that  there  was 
no  window  on  the  farther  side  of  the  hut,  had  a  hasty 


228  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

vision  of  taking  Clavering  captive  and  of  leading  him 
and  Miss  Severoid  and  the  black  girl  back  to  Basanna 
without  bothering  to  wait  for  daylight. 

"McClure  can  wake  up  when  he  likes  and  fend  for 
himself,"  was  his  mental  comment.  "Hope  Miss  S. 
doesn't  make  a  scene.  Hate  like  the  dickens  to  go 
back  on  her  like  this,  but — oh,  rats !  she  isn't  what  you 
thought  she  was,  so  what's  the  use?" 

And  the  lieutenant,  feeling  that  these  facts  justified 
anything,  lay  flat  upon  his  stomach  and  crawled  inch 
by  inch  nearer  to  the  door. 

The  moment  Miss  Severoid  had  entered,  Clavering 
had  risen  and,  grinding  his  cigarette  under  his  heel, 
gave  her  a  silent,  smiling  welcome  and  bowed  her  to 
ward  the  Madeira  chair.  Ilora,  going  immediately 
into  the  shadows  beside  the  tarpaulin-covered  pack, 
huddled  down  on  the  mats  like  a  sleek-coated  puma. 
She  rested  her  cheek  in  the  hollow  of  her  arm  and  did 
her  best  to  give  the  impression  that  she  had  no  interest 
whatever  in  what  was  to  follow. 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  Clavering  said  quietly,  glancing 
into  Miss  Severoid's  rather  white  face  as  he  settled 
himself  easily  in  his  chair.  "And  don't  be  alarmed  at 
anything  that  may  happen.  Has  he  really  been  dis 
agreeable  ?" 

Miss  Severoid  tried  to  feel  comfortable  and  to  look 
as  if  the  place  did  not  surprise  her. 

"N-no — that  is — he's  just  a  nuisance,"  she  whis 
pered,  essaying  a  smile  and  leaning  forward  a  little. 
"Shall  we  have  to  wait  till  the  carriers  are — " 

"Not  at  all.  We'll  take  the  presumably  sound  and 
fill  up  the  gaps  with  Benis.  There  is  only  one  more 
stop — Tulami — and  you'll  reach  there  to-morrow  at 
sunset.  You'll  start  for  Benin  City  the  same  night, 
an  hour  before  midnight,  and  arrive  about  two  in  the 
morning,  so  that  you'll  be  back  in  Tulami  again  about 


METHOD  IN  HIS  MADNESS  229 

sunrise.  You'll  use  the  hammock,  of  course,  and  I've 
no  doubt  that  McClure  can  stand  the  slightly  forced 
marching." 

The  shadow  of  a  smile  came  and  went. 

"The  lieutenant  is  going  back  to  Basanna  to  rejoin 
his  company.  Nothing  desperately  bloodthirsty  about 
that,  is  there  ?" 

Miss  Severoid  looked  doubtful.  She  was  really 
afraid  to  speak,  not  knowing  how  near  Maybrick  and 
his  Yorubas  might  be,  and  having  no  knowledge  of 
the  nature  of  the  trap  into  which  she  had  led  them,  her 
heart  was  beating  at  a  suffocating  rate  and  her  ears 
were  straining  to  catch  every  sound. 

But  she  heard  nothing  save  the  monotonous  shrill 
whistle  of  insects  and  the  burring  croak  of  frogs — 
sounds  so  incessant  as  to  pass  notice  and  become 
merged  into  the  silence. 

Clavering  watched  her  with  a  quiet,  unobtrusive  in 
terest  that  gave  no  hint  of  the  passionate  desire  he  had 
to  carry  her  off  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  so  that  there 
would  be  just  he  and  she  alone,  forever  and  ever. 
Whether  young  Debenham's  existence  disturbed  him 
or  not,  he  was  subconsciously  descending  to  what  he 
had  once  ridiculed  as  "bookish  sentimentality." 

Therefore,  being  the  manner  of  man  he  was,  the 
ultimate  result  promised  to  be  much  more  startling 
than  Miss   Severoid  had  bargained   for.     Just  then, 
however,  he  was  calm;  and  he  was  listening,  too.     So 
was  Ilora,  though  she  appeared  to  be  half  asleep. 
"You  feel  much  better,  don't  you?" 
Miss  Severoid  started  slightly.     Clavering  had  made 
no  effort  to  modulate  his  voice,  and  it  sounded  like  a 
miniature  thunderclap  in  the  choking  stillness. 

"Yes — thanks — much    better.     I'll    be    all    right — 
when — wh — " 

It  ended  in  a  muffled  little  scream,  and  she  started  to 


230  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

her  feet  impulsively  to  throw  herself  between  Clavering 
and  the  door  as  the  screen  was  suddenly  whipped  aside. 

"Up  with  your  hands,  Clavering!     Quick!" 

Maybrick's  sharp,  grating  voice  was  not  in  the  least 
like  his  own.  Tight-lipped,  and  with  his  nerves  strung 
to  breaking  point  as  a  result  of  the  chance  he  had 
taken — a  chance  that  proved  he  was  no  coward — he 
stood  leveling  his  revolver  at  the  bulk  of  Clavering' s 
body,  wondering  why  he  was  so  slow  upon  the  "draw." 

But  Clavering's  hands  shot  into  the  air.  There  was 
not  a  second's  hesitation,  and  he  actually  appeared  to 
be  terror-stricken. 

Feeling  very  dizzy  and  uncertain  of  everything,  Miss 
Severoid  looked  stupidly  from  the  outlaw  to  the  lieu 
tenant  and  back  again,  asking  herself  what  on  earth 
had  gone  wrong  with  Clavering's  plot. 

"Stand  aside,  Miss  Severoid,  please!"  Maybrick 
rasped  nervously.  "Sorry — can't  help  it.  Where's 
that  black  girl  ?  Ah — there  you  are,  eh  ?  Get  up  and 
go  over  beside  your  mistress.  Get  a  move  on !  Don't 
be  so  damned  slow !  That's  better.  Orderly !" 

The  right  window  screen  was  swept  aside  and  the 
left  was  similarly  treated  a  second  later.  Two  khaki- 
clad  little  men  bounded  into  the  room  with  their  knives 
glinting  savagely  in  their  hands.  It  was  a  fearsome, 
blood-chilling  spectacle,  and  Miss  Severoid  shut  her 
eyes  upon  the  thing  she  thought  was  going  to  happen : 
shut  her  eyes  and  tried  to  scream  and  could  not. 

Then  she  looked  again,  and  saw  that  the  Yorubas 
had  halted  alx>ut  half  a  foot  upon  each  side  of  Claver 
ing,  acknowledging  the  admission  of  his  surrender 
indicated  by  his  upraised  arms. 

Maybrick  came  a  few  steps  nearer  and  Clavering 
shrank  from  his  approach.  Miss  Severoid  had  never 
seen  the  outlaw  look  like  that  before;  would  not  have 
believed  that  he  could. 


METHOD  IN  HIS  MADNESS  231 

Then  Maybrick  saw  that  his  captive's  holster  was 
empty;  and  some  of  the  blood  came  back  into  his 
face. 

"Huh !  That's  it,  is  it  ?  Thought  there  was  some 
thing  wrong.  I  seem  to  have  come  along  at  the  right 
time.  Don't  interfere,  Miss  Severoid,  and  don't  think 
I'm  a  rotter.  I  have  to  do  this.  Got  that  piece  of 
rope,  orderly?" 

On  the  point  of  pleading  with  Maybrick  to  remem 
ber  his  promise,  Miss  Severoid  gulped  down  what  she 
might  have  said,  and  backing  away  until  her  chair 
stopped  her,  she  stood  very  still,  watching  the  Yorubas 
bind  Clavering's  wrists  with  a  piece  of  stout  rope 
which  one  of  them  produced  from  his  tunic. 

Ilora  stood  near  the  window  on  the  right  beside  the 
lamp,  with  an  air  of  nonchalant  indifference.  When 
Maybrick  ordered  her  sharply  to  "stand  away  from 
there!"  she  obeyed  without  any  hesitation  whatever, 
as  if  obedience  to  government  officials  was  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world  to  her. 

Maybrick  looked  about  him  carefully. 
"No    one    else — eh?     All    right.     Any    rope    left, 
orderly?" 

"Li'l  piece,  sah,"  one  of  the  Yorubas  answered  dis 
passionately. 

"Good.  Tie  the  girl,  too.  I  don't  like  her  looks." 
So  they  bound  Ilora's  wrists  and  arraigned  her 
alongside  her  master,  while  Miss  Severoid,  choking 
and  ready  to  shed  copious  tears  of  mortification  and 
hopelessness,  sank  into  her  chair,  biting  her  ashen  lips 
to  keep  from  crying  out. 

Then  Maybrick  was  standing  at  her  side,  still  keep 
ing  a  cautious  eye  upon  Clavering,  who,  up  to  that 
point  in  the  proceedings,  had  not  uttered  a  sound  or 
made  any  resistance.  In  fact,  he  seemed  to  be  afraid 
to  move ;  and  if  the  fear  of  death  had  never  been  writ- 


232  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

ten  upon  a  human  face  before,  it  was  most  certainly 
written  in  letters  large  and  bold  upon  his  then. 

"I'm  sorry,"  Maybrick  apologized  to  Miss  Severoid, 
moistening  his  lips.  "But  orders  are  orders,  and  I'm 
afraid  we'll  have  to  start  back  to  Saloko  without  Mc- 
Clure.  You  see,  I  can't  very  well  go  through  Mayona 
with  his  nibs,  and  I  can't  trust  the  black  beauty  as  a 
messenger.  It's  beastly  awkward,  I  know — but — oh, 
hang  it,  don't  look  like  that!  The  bones  of  Prester 
John  or  whatever  it  is  you  are  going  for,  will  keep — 
and — well — that  is — you  can't  go,  that's  all." 

Miss  Severoid  got  out  of  her  chair  an  inch  at  a  time, 
fixing  Maybrick  with  the  hopeless,  impotent  stare  of 
one  who  is  trying  to  meet  a  situation  too  large  to  be 
comprehended.  In  fact,  her  mind  was  shrouded  in  a 
stifling  blackness,  and  was  groping  for  just  one  little, 
gray  beam  of  understanding. 

"Can't  go !"  she  whispered.     "Can't—" 

She  stopped,  and  her  glance  shifted  in  a  leaden  sort 
of  way  in  Clavering's  direction.  He  was  facing  the 
door,  and  with  Ilora  slouching  in- captivity  beside  him, 
he  appeared  to  have  resigned  himself  to  his  fate.  The 
Yorubas  stood  at  attention  waiting  for  orders. 

And  then  it  came  home  to  Miss  Severoid  that  every 
thing  had  somehow  or  other  gone  wrong ;  that  she  was 
to  be  taken  back  to  Saloko,  and  that  all  that  she  had 
planned  and  prayed  and  striven  for  with  heart  and 
body  and  soul  was  being  snatched  out  of  her  grasp 
within  sight  of  her  goal  by  a  smooth-shaven,  weak- 
mouthed  man  who  spoke  foolishly  of  the  "bones  of 
Prester  John"  and  held  Clavering  captive  by  reason 
of  a  piece  of  forged  steel  and  some  lead. 

So,  without  a  thought  for  the  consequences,  and 
uttering  a  queer  little  cry  of  anger  and  pain  and  des 
peration,  she  threw  herself  madly  at  Maybrick,  clutch 
ing  for  his  right  hand ;  and  when  she  missed  her  mark 


METHOD  IN  HIS  MADNESS  233 

by  a  respectable  foot  because  the  lieutenant  with  an 
involuntary  oath  swerved  sharply  and  swept  his  arm 
upward  out  of  reach  she  floundered  heavily  to  her 
knees  with  a  suddenness  that  made  strange  lights  dance 
before  her  eyes  and  emphatically  proved  the  theory 
that  the  world  went  round. 

She  had  a  vague  understanding  that  Maybrick  was 
sputteringly  reprimanding  her  and  that  the  Yorubas 
were  to  "take  hold  of  them" — meaning  Clavering  and 
Ilora — and  then  she  felt  the  touch  of  the  lieutenant's 
hand  upon  her  shoulder. 

And  at  that  moment,  because  Maybrick  was  not 
looking  in  that  direction,  a  long,  black,  snakelike  arm 
curved  in  through  the  window  hole  on  the  right — 
where  the  lamp  was. 

Followed  the  almost  inaudible  click  of  the  lamp- 
shutter  and  a  sudden  and  terrible  darkness.  The  lamp 
had  not  been  turned  low  for  nothing. 

"Damn—" 

The  oath,  harsh  and  unconfined,  was  Maybrick's. 

He  straightened  sharply,  swung  about,  and  faced 
his  Maker  in  that  second  with  the  prayer  of  Ajax 
upon  his  lips. 

Miss  Severoid  did  not  move.  She  could  not.  Her 
limbs  were  temporarily  paralyzed,  and  there  was  an 
eternity  in  every  second  of  time  as  she  waited,  still  on 
her  knees,  for — Heaven  alone  knew  what] 

Maybrick  was  afraid  to  shoot  in  Clavering's  direc 
tion  for  fear  of  hitting  one  of  his  orderlies,  and  he  was 
equally  afraid  to  rush  toward  his  prisoners  lest  he 
might  stumble  over  Miss  Severoid,  who  knelt  almost 
at  his  feet. 

And  it  all  happened  in  a  few  seconds — a  ghostly, 
soundless  business,  in  which  the  Yoruba  ejaculations 
of  surprise  were  suddenly  and  mysteriously  silenced 
with  scarcely  a  hint  of  a  struggle,  and  which  ended,  so 


234  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

far  as  Maybrick  was  concerned,  when  a  naked  arm 
slid  about  his  throat  and  something  clammy,  like  a  cold 
and  soapy  sponge,  was  simultaneously  clapped  over  his 
mouth  and  nostrils. 

He  gasped,  just  once — a  deep  inhalation  of  surprise 
— and  his  senses  drifted  out  upon  the  pungent  odor  of 
decayed  Yaka  roots. 

A  grunting  Jackrie  guttural  signified  the  successful 
conclusion  of  that  strange  attack,  and  as  Maybrick 
slipped  out  of  his  assailant's  grasp  like  an  ill-filled  sack, 
Miss  Severoid  felt  his  limp  fingers  brush  her  elbow 
as  he  sprawled  on  his  face  at  her  side. 

The  touch  made  her  shiver  and  give  vent  to  a  low 
moan  of  fear  and  horror — the  first  sound  she  had  ut 
tered  since  the  light  went  out. 

Hardly  knowing  what  she  did,  she  rose  shudderingly 
to  her  feet  and  groped  dizzily  in  the  direction  in  which 
she  thought  the  door  ought  to  be.  Then,  as  her  trem 
bling  knees  threatened  to  give  way,  a  hand  came  out 
of  the  opaque  darkness  and,  gently  gripping  her  arm, 
led  her  swiftly  out  past  indistinct  shadows  of  things 
that  breathed  like  human  beings — which  was  all  she 
ever  saw  or  heard  of  Clavering^s  rescuers. 

Something  like  a  sob  escaped  her  as  a  breath  of 
cooler  air  fanned  her  cheek. 

"Sh !"  Clavering  soothed,  leading  her  without  pause 
across  the  clearing,  while  Ilora  followed,  sullen  as  ever, 
though  free  as  her  master.  "Don't  be  afraid.  There's 
no  harm  done,  unless  you  hurt  yourself  when  you  in 
troduced  that  little  melodramatic  effect  of  your  own. 
And  if  friend  Cralla's  headman  had  not  been  so  slow 
in  putting  out  the  light  that  would  not  have  happened. 
When  they  were  tying  up  Ilora  would  have  been  a 
better  time." 

Miss  Severoid  heard  through  a  fog.    A  black,  fan- 


METHOD  IN  HIS  MADNESS  235 

tomlike  figure  passed  her,  then  another,  and  so  swiftly 
did  they  merge  into  the  darkness  they  seemed  to  vanish 
into  the  ground. 

Clinging  to  Clavering  as  though  she  feared  that  if 
his  support  were  withdrawn  she  would  surely  fall,  and 
still  feeling  the  limp  touch  of  Maybrick's  ringers  as 
they  had  brushed  her  elbow  she  asked  in  an  awed 
whisper  that  distinctly  said  she  was  afraid  of  the 
answer. 

"Wh-what  did  they — do— to  him?" 
"Administered  a  sort  of  anesthetic  so  that  he  would 
not  feel  the  pain  of  parting  with  us  so  much,"  Claver 
ing  returned  easily.  "It's  quite  harmless — in  single 
doses.  Induces  about  ten  hours'  sleep  and  most  pleas 
ant  dreams — like  opium,  you  know.  So  his  journey  to 
Basanna,  per  hammock,  should  be  rather  comfortable. 
Don't  be  alarmed.  It  isn't  your  hammock.  Explana 
tion  entirely  satisfactory?" 

Miss  Severoid's  head  cleared  a  little,  but  strangely 
uncertain  and  uncanny  sounds  emanating  from  the 
gloom  behind  her  made  her  a  little  dubious  about  the 
truth  of  her  companion's  tale. 

"Bu-but  why  did  you  let  him  go  so  far?  If  you  had 
those  people  waiting  about  you  could  have — " 

"Achieved  the  same  result  with  much  less  personal 
discomfort.  True — but  it  would  never  do  to  have 
him  suspect  when  he  awakes  that  you  had  a  hand  in  it. 
You  hope  to  go  back  to  civilization,  I  suppose,  and  I 
thought  it  best  to  impress  the  poor  chap  that  you  had 
been  a  help  to  him.  Judging  by  the  way  he  apologized 
to  you,  I  imagine  he  thought  you  had.  You  see,  I 
have  to  be  careful  in  matters  of  that  sort,  that  the 
responsibility  and  suspicion  will  fall  solely  upon  me 
and  not  upon — my  friends.  Which  forces  me  to  be 
rather  elaborate  sometimes." 


236  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

He  spoke  wearily  as  if  these  details  tired  him. 
Halting  he  said  quietly : 

"You  can  tell  Maybrick  when  you  see  him  again  that 
I  was  not  at  all  unpleasant  to  you,  but  helped  you  on 
your  way — which  isn't  altogether  untruthful,  is  it?" 
His  eyes  glowed  at  her  in  the  dark,  almost  as  luminous 
as  a  cat's.  "I  shall  leave  you  here,  and  you  need  have 
no  fears  on  the  lieutenant's  account.  Get  as  much 
sleep  as  you  can  to-night,  because  to-morrow  is  going 
to  be  rather  tiresome.  Still  doubtful  about  anything?" 

"No — that  is — I  don't  think  so.  Sh-shall  I  see  you 
again  before — " 

"I'm  afraid  not.  There  is  nothing  I  can  help  you 
with  now  any  better  than  Cralla.  Afterward — I  shall 
come  to  see  you.  Good  night,  Miss  Severoid !  Ilora 
will  see  that  you  reach  the  village  in  safety.  Ilora — 
wah!" 

And  that  was  all  he  said. 

Miss  Severoid  felt  the  gentle  pressure  of  his  fingers 
as  the  Jackrie  girl  came  to  his  side,  and  almost  before 
she  had  gathered  voice  enough  to  return  his  soft  "Good 
night!"  he  was  gone. 

Ever  since  that  night  in  Segwanga,  when  he  had 
held  out  his  arms  to  her  and  she  had  coquettishly  re 
fused  their  invitation  after  leading  him  to  believe  that 
she  might  do  so,  he  had  not  once  made  any  overtures 
of  that  kind.  Which  gave  Miss  Severoid  food  for  se 
rious  thought  as  she  followed  the  sulky  Ilora  back  to 
Mayona. 

She  had  drawn  two  strong  men  into  her  service,  and 
that  each  would  undoubtedly  come  to  claim  his  reward 
when  "it  was  all  over"  was  as  inevitable  as  the  dawn. 
But  she  scarcely  thought  of  McClure  in  that  finale — 
only  of  Clavering. 

She  could  not  tell  what  he  might  do,  particularly 
since  he  had  become  so  quiet  and  serious  about  her. 


METHOD  IN  HIS  MADNESS  237 

Clavering  in  flirtation  could  be  handled,  but  Clavering 
in  passionate  earnest  was  an  entirely  different  thing, 
and  almost  sure  to  be  dangerous. 

Consequently,  in  spite  of  his  advice,  Miss  Severoid 
did  not  sleep  very  well  that  night.  She  had  sowed  des 
perately  and  was  becoming  afraid  of  the  reaping. 

Maybrick,  on  the  contrary,  slept  very  well  indeed. 
So  did  his  Yoruba  orderlies,  but  the  latter  were  not  a 
part  of  the  silent  little  procession  that  marched  swiftly 
through  the  night  toward  Basanna.  They  were  too 
much  trouble  to  carry. 

So  that  Chief  Tomi,  without  having  been  in  any  way 
responsible  for  their  disappearance,  got  his  targets, 
after  all ! 

Which  is  the  rest  of  what  Clavering  meant  when  he 
told  Miss  Severoid  that  he  had  to  be  careful  to  protect 
his  friends.  He  might  have  added : 

"And  feed  their  lusts  to  keep  them." 

But  it  may  be  remembered,  at  the  same  time,  that 
these  orderlies  had  treated  Cralla  like  a  sack  of  yams. 


s 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

ON    TO   TULAMl! 

McCLURE  had  noted  Maybrick's  absence  from 
Tomi's  compound  very  shortly  after  the  lieutenant  had 
gone.  But  he  did  not  bother  about  it  then. 

Afterward,  when  he  was  sure  that  Providence  alone 
could  intervene  on  behalf  of  the  carriers,  and  that  he 
had  done  all  he  could  for  those  whose  hours  were  num 
bered,  he  retired  to  the  hut  which  had  been  assigned 
to  him,  leaving  Tomi,  who  was  bubbling  with  charity, 
to  keep  his  women  at  the  unwelcome  task  of  attending 
the  sick  and  preparing  graves  for  the  dead. 

Observing  that  Miss  Severoid's  hut  was  in  darkness, 
McClure  presumed  that  she  was  asleep,  and  when  he 
learned  from  Plymouth  that  Maybrick  and  his  order 
lies  "done  go  for  bush,"  he  sat  alone  for  a  long  time 
pondering  the  possible  reasons  that  might  have  led  the 
lieutenant  to  march  voluntarily  into  the  bush  at  night 
with  two  unarmed  orderlies.  But  he  did  not  arrive  at 
any  very  satisfactory  conclusions,  and,  having  no  par 
ticular  reason  for  constituting  himself  as  Maybrick's 
keeper,  he  finally  dozed  off,  vaguely  wondering 
whether  Cralla's  absence  had  anything  to  do  with  the 
matter. 

He  was  afraid  it  had.  Next  morning,  finding  that 
Maybrick  and  his  Yorubas  were  still  missing,  he  was 
sure  of  it,  particularly  when  he  found  Cralla  in  Tomi's 
compound  counting  the  survivors. 

There  were  fifteen.  Exactly  half  of  Cralla's  force 
238 


ON  TO  TULAMI!  239 

had  either  bolted  or  succumbed,  and  those  that  were 
left — with  the  exception  of  the  head  man  and  one  or 
two  other  unlovely  brutes  who  looked  as  if  they  could 
drink  vitriol  and  live — did  not  appear  to  be  anxious  or 
capable  of  continuing  the  journey. 

McClure  looked  them  over,  pursed  his  lips,  pulled 
upon  his  mustache  for  a  minute  or  two,  then  shot  a* 
sudden  and  inquiring  glance  at  Cralla. 

"Well?" 

Cralla  wrung  his  hands  and  moaned,  and  Chief 
Tomi  tried  to  look  sad,  too. 

"Be  my  money !"  Cralla  chanted  dolefully.  "Where 
I  go  get  money  to  buy  fifteen  more  carrier  man? 
Yella!  Yella!  There  be  jttju  for  my  head !  And  I 
no  do  nothin'  bad  to  no  man!" 

He  made  queer  noises  with  his  tongue  and  swore 
in  Jackrie,  Sobo,  Beni,  and  Ejau — strange  oaths  that 
were  an  anathema  upon  the  bones  of  the  departed  car 
riers  and  their  remotest  ancestors. 

"What  are  we  going  to  do?"  McClure  interrupted 
when  he  became  tired  of  the  jumble. 

Cralla  did  not  know,  but  Tomi,  good  friend  that  he 
was,  suddenly  bubbled  over  with  good-natured  assist 
ance,  and  offered  as  many  of  his  boys  as  were  neces 
sary  to  fill  the  gaps— then  looked  toward  McClure  for 
a  sign  of  practical  appreciation. 

But  the  trader,  with  an  idle  glance  round  about, 
ignored  the  implication,  and  watched  the  village  yawn 
and  stretch  and  crawl  from  its  sweltering  slumbers 
back  to  the  squalid  reality  of  another  day. 

Looking  sharply  at  Cralla  again  he  asked  abruptly : 

"Where — gbvernment  man  ?" 

Cralla  did  not  betray  so  much  as  the  stirring' of  an 
eyelash,  and  his  wailings  did  not  cease. 

"He  go  back  to  Basanna,"  he  said  in  the  same  whin 
ing  tone.  "I  t'ink  he  be  juju" 


240  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

McClure  did  not  believe  that,  but  he  knew  it  would 
be  worse  than  useless  to  attempt  to  probe  the  matter 
any  further.  He  went  to  have  breakfast  with  Miss 
Severoid,  feeling  anything  but  satisfied  with  her  expe 
dition.  He  was  sure  that  Maybrick  had  come  by  a 
most  untimely  end. 

But  he  tried  to  shield  the  ugly  thought  from  Miss 
Severoid  when  she  asked  very  promptly  as  he  entered 
her  hut : 

"Where  is  the  lieutenant?" 

"Gone  back  to  Basanna,  I  believe.  Cralla  says  so. 
Sleep  well?" 

"Oh — yes — splendidly,  thanks !"  Miss  Severoid  lied 
jerkily,  trying  not  to  look  as*  relieved  as  Cralla's  ex 
planation  of  Maybrick's  departure  made  her.  "Are — 
are  we  moving  to-day?" 

"I  believe  so."  His  glance  was  very  searching. 
"You  look  pale  and  tired  and  frightened.  Becoming  a 
little  too  much  for  you,  isn't  it?" 

"Oh — no — no,  really!"  she  protested.  "And  here 
comes  Ilora  with  the  hot  water  for  my  tea.  I  shouldn't 
let  you  see  me  till  I've  had  my  first  cup — and  these 
stuffy  little  places  are  not  just  the  best  aid  to  the  com 
plexion.  Why  aren't  you  wearing  your  eye-shade? 
Your  eyes  are  still  inflamed  quite  a  lot,  and  I'm  sure 
they  must  hurt." 

"No.  Nothing  to  speak  of.  They're  all  right 
now." 

McClure  permitted  her  to  examine  his  eyes  more 
closely  and  tried  to  smile  in  the  teeth  of  what  he  be 
lieved  had  happened  to  Maybrick,  but  Miss  Severoid 
did  not  fail  to  detect  his  uneasiness.  Sensing  the  cause, 
she  took  a  firm  grip  upon  her  nerves  and  voice  and 
declared  deliberately,  as  Ilora  served  the  sickly-looking 
Delta  eggs : 

"I  am  not  sorry  the  lieutenant  has  gone  back,  be- 


ON  TO  TULAMI!  241 

cause  I  was  afraid  he  was  going  to  be  terribly  officious 
and  not  let  us  go  any  farther  if  I  wouldn't — wouldn't 
let  him — make  love  to  me!  He — he  came  back  last 
night  after  you'd  both  gone  out  and — and — "  She 
stopped  and  allowed  McClure  to  read  the  rest  of  it  in 
her  face.  "Perhaps  that  was  why — he  went  back. 
But  you — you  mustn't  ever — tell  any  one  I  told  you." 

Which  was  some  of  the  truth,  at  any  rate,  and  the 
time  was  not  ripe  for  full  and  complete  confessions. 
Afterward — she  hoped  the  justification  for  what  she 
had  done  would  be  plainer. 

McClure's  hands  clenched  on  his  knees  and  black 
thunder-clouds  came  and  hung  over  his  eyes. 

"Don't!"  Miss  Severoid  pleaded  softly.  "I  don't 
like  you  when  you  look  like  that." 

But  McClure  did  not  speak,  nor  did  his  face  become 
very  much  clearer  for  the  remainder  of  the  meal ;  and 
Ilora,  who  feared  him  and  loved  him,  and  watched  him 
surreptitiously  at  all  times  with  her  own  crude  concep 
tions  of  hero-worship,  exulted  because  she  thought 
his  very  evident  displeasure  was  directed  at  Miss  Sev 
eroid. 

The  girl  had  not  for  an  instant  given  up  hope  of  see 
ing  Miss  Severoid's  wonderful  white  skin  quiver  under 
the  mutilating  lash  of  a  hippo-hide  wielded  by  Mc 
Clure. 

There  was  no  further  mention  of  Maybrick,  and 
none  whatever  of  Clavering.  McClure,  however,  ap 
peared  to  be  thinking  very  deeply,  even  as  he  shared 
the  burden  of  an  inconsequential  conversation  that  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  expedition's  purpose  and  diffi 
culties. 

Since  Miss  Severoid  had  put  a  chain  upon  his  tongue 
in  Basanna,  McClure  had  relapsed  without  a  murmur 
into  his  former  attitude  of  courteous  solicitude  in 
which  there  was  a  vein  of  big-brotherly  authoritative- 


242  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

ness,  with  its  consequent  angle  of  shoulder-shrugging 
indifference  to  her  whims. 

But  there  was  not  a  waking  moment  in  which  he  did 
not  ask  himself  what  Clavering's  intentions  were. 
The  nearer  they  drew  to  Benin  City  the  more  poignant 
the  question  became. 

Undoubtedly  Clavering  had  a  definite  object  in  view, 
and  McClure,  judging  the  man  by  his  past  perform 
ances,  could  gage  the  nature  of  the  object  with  a  fair 
degree  of  accuracy. 

Maybrick's  "indiscretion"  served  only  to  accentuate 
Clavering's  possible  purpose,  and  McClure  thought  of 
it  with  the  sensations  of  a  man  who  goes  to  his  death 
with  his  revolver  in  his  belt  and  his  hands  tied  behind 
his  back. 

He  alone  stood  between  Miss  Severoid  and  the  out 
law's  smooth  but  terrible  machinations;  yet  he  could 
do  nothing  to  assure  her  safety  until  her  desperate 
whim  to  enter  Benin  City  had  been  satisfied. 

Again  and  again  he  had  employed  round  oaths  to 
condemn  his  own  colossal  folly  for  allowing  such  an 
insane  purpose  to  be  credited  with  even  the  faintest 
shadow  of  his  approval ;  and  then  he  would  study  Miss 
Severoid's  face  for  a  minute  or  two  and  mutter, 
"ntafischf"  with  all  the  fatalism  of  a  Sudanese  camel- 
driver. 

The  march  to  Tulami  began  shortly  after  seven 
o'clock  to  the  accompaniment  of  much  screeching  and 
gesticulation  upon  the  part  of  Mayona's  more-than- 
half -naked  population.  Tomi  was  bubbling  over  with 
good  wishes,  and  the  last  McClure  saw  of  him  was  in 
the  shape  of  a  large  black  blot  in  the  foreground  of  a 
group  of  filthy  and  emaciated  villagers,  some  of  whom 
were  dressed  for  the  occasion  in  the  festival  attire  of 
a  loin-cloth. 

And  then  they  vanished  behind  a  clump  of  green. 


ON  TO  TULAMI!  243 

and  the  mocking  screech  of  their  farewell  died  into  a 
whispering  silence  as  the  expedition,  like  a  great  snake, 
wound  its  twisting  way  in  single  file  along  the  narrow 
bush  path  to  Tulami. 

In  some  places  Miss  Severoid's  hammock  barely 
managed  to  squeeze  through,  and  as  the  bearers  tugged 
upon  it,  it  resembled  a  rowboat  in  a  choppy  sea.  But 
its  occupant  had  become  accustomed  to  these  discom 
forts,  and  they  afforded  her  a  mild  speculative  interest, 
inasmuch  as  she  was  almost  constantly  wondering 
when  the  thing  would  overturn  and  precipitate  her  into 
the  underbrush  among  the  snakes  and  centipedes. 

McClure  marched  behind,  with  Ilora  and  Plymouth 
bringing  up  the  rear,  and  there  were  many  times  when 
the  head  of  the  procession  was  invisible  to  the  tail. 
Upon  one  of  those  occasions,  with  Maybrick's  disap 
pearance  still  troubling  him,  the  trader  turned  his  head 
and  beckoned  the  watchful  Ilora  with  a  nod. 

The  Jackrie  girl  trembled  and  the  whites  of  her  eyes 
became  suddenly  prominent.  He  had  never  spoken  to 
her  before,  and  ever  since  the  evening  on  which  she  had 
wielded  a  hurricane  lantern  with  such  deadly  effective 
ness,  she  had  lived  in  constant  dread  of  detection  by 
McClure  himself. 

But  she  squeezed  her  way  obediently  to  his  side  with 
an  impudent  show  of  indifference. 

McClure  regarded  her  carefully  for  a  minute  or  two 
before  he  spoke. 

"Why  you  wear  your  cloth — so?"  he  asked  in  a  low 
monotone,  fixing  her  with  a  look  that  permitted  no 
prevarication  and  indicating  her  unusual  method  of 
fastening  her  overcloth  over  her  shoulders  instead  of 
under  the  arms. 

All  Ilora's  indifference  vanished.  She  wilted  in 
stantly  and  writhed  from  the  question  in  a  new-born 
shame — a  sensation  entirely  foreign  to  her.  The 


244  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

marks  over  her  shoulder  blades,  which  her  overcloth 
was  intended  to  hide,  burned  again  fiercely  and  seemed 
to  screech  aloud  the  fact  that  she,  Ilora  of  Warn, 
favored  among  her  womankind,  had  been  tied  hand 
and  foot  like  a  branded  slave  and  flogged. 

"Flog  palaver— eh?"  McClure  suggested  mildly, 
since  she  did  not  answer.  "You  be  wife  of  bushman 
who  flogs  his  wife  like  slave.  I  think  you  be  Warri 
girl?" 

Ilora's  head  drooped.  She  made  no  reply,  and  none 
was  necessary.  Her  disgrace,  all  the  more  keen  be 
cause  McClure  had  detected  it,  was  plainly  written  in 
her  face.  They  jogged  silently  along  for  another 
space  in  the  wake  of  the  twisting  line  of  carriers  and 
Miss  Severoid's  reeling  hammock,  which,  if  it  did  not 
screen  McClure  from  Cralla's  watchful  eyes,  served  to 
hide  Ilora's  presence  at  his  side. 

Plymouth  came  slouching  on  like  a  dog  at  the  heels 
of  his  master. 

"You  be  Cralla  wife?"  McClure  asked  Ilora  softly 
after  a  while. 

She  nodded  reluctantly,  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
yellow  clay  under  her  feet.  And  she  knew  that  the 
nod  was  an  admission  of  the  fact  that  it  had  been 
Cralla  who  had  used  the  hippo-hide,  since  no  one  else 
would  have  dared  to  do  so. 

McClure  waited  a  minute  or  two,  contemplating 
Cralla  in  a  new  role.  Then  his  hand  closed  firmly  but 
carefully  about  the  girl's  arm.  She  made  no  protest; 
in  fact,  she  subsided  so  peacefully  into  his  grip  that 
he  marveled  at  it,  and  her  queer  little  grin  of  satisfac 
tion  was  better  understood  as  her  glance  traveled  ex 
ultantly  to  the  rocking  hammock. 

McClure  noted  that,  too,  and  considered  her  guard 
edly  for  several  more  minutes  ere  he  felt  safe  to  whis 
per. 


ON  TO  TULAMI!  245 

"Government  man  go  back  to  Basanna?" 

Ilora  looked  up  swiftly,  then  away  again.  And  then 
she  nodded  as  though  afraid  some  one  might  see  her. 

"Last  night?''  McClure  persisted,  confident  that  the 
girl  was  speaking  the  truth  and  that  Miss  Severoid 
could  not  hear. 

Another  nod,  more  vigorous  than  the  previous  one ; 
and  McClure  breathed  more  easily,  and  marveled  that 
Miss  Severoid's  explanation  of  Maybrick's  departure 
should  have  been,  after  all,  the  correct  one ! 

He  thought  of  asking  Ilora  why  Cralla  had  flogged 
her,  but  feeling  sure  that  she  would  not  tell  him  the 
truth  upon  that  matter — because  a  Jackrie  is  always 
punished  for  "doing  nothing" — he  patted  her  on  the 
shoulder,  told  her  she  was  a  good  girl  and  allowed  her 
to  resume  her  place  in  the  rear  again. 

She  complied  so  reluctantly  that  he  marveled  still 
more.  Turning  his  head  a  few  minutes  later  as  he 
mopped  the  perspiration  from  his  face  and  forehead, 
he  caught  her  watching  him  with  a  savage  and  pitiful 
sort  of  admiration  that  was  disturbing. 

But  he  faced  front  again  without  a  word.  Glancing 
upward  occasionally  through  the  tangle  overhead  for 
a  sign  of  rain,  he  plodded  steadily  on  behind  Miss 
Severoid's  hammock,  moodily  speculating  upon  the 
immediate  future  beyond  Tulami. 

Reaching  Tulami  was  a  sizzling,  monotonous,  pa 
tience-testing  business.  There  was  green  on  the  right 
and  green  on  the  left  and  a  twining,  lumpy  ribbon  of 
a  path  between.  So  far  as  Miss  Severoid  was  con 
cerned,  when  the  tramp  was  begun  again  after  the 
noonday  rest,  even  the  snakes  had  lost  their  interest 
and  she  had  a  vague  desire  to  see  leopards  and  ele 
phants  and  hippopotami — all  at  a  safe  distance,  of 
course — anything  that  would  create  a  little  diversion 
from  the  steady,  scuffling  plod  of  the  carriers  who 


246  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

slouched  along  with  but  one  aim  in  view,  and  that  to 
be  rid  of  their  packs  as  quickly  as  possible. 

But  there  is  surprisingly  little  diversion  in  the  day 
time  when  one  has  become  accustomed  to  the  scrawny 
Delta  monkeys'  antics  and  to  the  fact  that  one  is  shut 
in  from  all  the  world,  entirely  at  the  mercy  of  one's 
carriers  and  guides. 

Sometimes  a  carrier  is  bitten  by  a  centipede  and 
creates  a  little  excitement  as  he  bolts  for  the  whisky, 
with  the  result  that  he  dies  gloriously  drunk  or  that 
the  alcohol  saves  him.  But  occurrences  of  that  sort 
are  rare,  and  in  those  days  the  most  treacherous  thin^ 
in  the  Beni  country  was  the  Beni  himself. 

When  the  hammock  would  permit,  Miss  Severoid 
thought  principally  of  the  fact  that  within  twenty-four 
hours  she  would  know  the  best  or  the  worst.  And 
when  one  has  been  striving  for  months  to  make  the 
impossible  probable,  one  knows  what  is  meant  by  "the 
last  long  weary  mile  that  makes  the  journey's  end," 
more  particularly  when  the  journey's  end  is  the  walled 
city  of  Benin. 

There  were  moments  when  Miss  Severoid's  mouth 
was  a  knifelike  line — when  her  lips  had  no  color  in 
them  and  her  eyes  were  devoid  of  life;  and  then,  as 
the  hammock  would  jolt  perilously  and  threaten  to 
overturn,  she  would  start  from  these  unhappy  reveries, 
clutch  at  the  straps  and  pray. 

Her  surroundings  were  becoming  wilder  and  wilder 
at  every  turn,  and  the  stragglers  they  passed  were  more 
weird  as  to  head-dress  and  more  fearsome  in  their  face 
markings  than  the  people  of  Mayona.  The  problem 
of  clothes  had  thinned  out  to  the  airy  edge  of  nothing 
ness. 

And  McClure  could  see  the  fear  of  Clavering  in 
every  face;  saw  mothers  with  their  babies  on  their 
backs  burrow  into  the  bush  out  of  the  way  the  moment 


ON  TO  TULAMI!  247 

they  caught  sight  of  Chief  Cralla,  whose  power  lay 
solely  in  the  fact  that  he  was  Covering's  agent. 

But  Cralla,  as  usual,  looked  neither  to  right  nor  left 
nor  behind  him;  neither  did  he  falter  nor  slacken  his 
pace;  but  driving  the  carriers  relentlessly  on  before 
him  he  herded  them  into  wild  Tulami  shortly  before 
sunset,  just  in  time  to  escape  the  storm  that,  if  only 
upon  account  of  the  twenty-four  hours  of  time  it 
wasted,  is  worth  remembering. 

It  proved  to  be  of  vast  importance  when  the  climax 
was  reached. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

WITHIN    THE   GATES 

IT  rained  all  night,  a  steady  downpour  that  made  the 
intended  midnight  advance  on  Benin  City  an  impossi 
bility  and  necessitated  a  twenty-four-hour  sojourn  in 
Tulami  that  was  far  from  pleasant. 

That  the  place  made  Taomi  and  Basanna  and  May- 
ona  seem  clean  by  comparison;  that  Miss  Severoid's 
hut  swam  in  several  inches  of  water  before  morning; 
that  she  had  to  sit  all  night  upon  a  wabbly  deal  board 
slung  across  two  empty  kerosene  cases  and  had  to  wear 
an  oilskin  coat  and  hat  and  McClure's  rain-boots ;  that 
the  lightning  flashed  and  the  thunder  roared  and  the 
world  seemed  ready  to  give  up  the  ghost  at  any  mo 
ment — these  were  little  things  compared  with  the  fact 
that  Benin  City  and  Ralph — her  Ralph!  were  just  a 
few  hours  away,  and  she  could  not  go  on. 

And  when  morning  came  and  she  learned  that  she 
must  spend  one  whole,  useless  day  gasping  in  the  midst 
of  unspeakable  odors  within  the  smothering  confines 
of  the  insalubrious  hut,  she  laughed  hysterically  up 
into  McClure's  face,  gripped  his  arms  and  clung  to  him 
in  a  frenzied  sort  of  way  that  made  him  go  rather 
white.  He  muttered  incoherent  words  of  sympathy 
and  patted  her  soothingly  on  the  head  as  though  she 
were  a  child. 

Ilora,  always  near  and  always  watching,  blasphemed 
in  silence,  and  then  going  out  and  capturing  a  lizard 
with  a  golden  head  and  a  tail  the  color  of  blue-black 
ink,  she  held  it  captive  within  a  triangle  of  mango 

248 


WITHIN  THE  GATES  249 

twigs;  gave  it  to  eat  and  to  drink,  muttering  a  weird 
incantation  into  its  ear.  Then  she  flayed  it  over  a  slow 
fire  and  waited  for  its  spirit  to  wreak  vengeance  upon 
Miss  Severoid. 

She  waited  all  day.  Judging  by  the  ghostly  pallor 
of  Miss  Severoid's  cheeks,  the  nervous  twisting  of  her 
mouth,  her  constant  moving  to  and  fro,  her  efforts  to 
sleep  that  were  useless  and  the  manner  in  which  she 
slowly  but  surely  tore  a  small  and  innocent  handker 
chief  to  shreds,  it  seemed  as  if  the  sacrificed  lizard's 
spirit  was  really  gnawing  at  her  heart. 

But  Ilora  knew  nothing  of  nerves  and  their  vagaries. 
Nor  did  she  know  of  the  leagues  and  leagues  Miss  Sev 
eroid  had  traveled  over  all  manner  of  impassable  bar 
riers — or  of  the  planning  and  the  praying,  and  the  flirt 
ing  and  the  lying  and  the  smiling  she  had  done  while 
her  heart  was  being  tortured  by  the  agonizing  hours 
and  weeks  and  months  of  hoping  and  yearning  for  the 
sound  of  a  voice  and  sight  of  a  face  that  were  dearer 
to  her  than  life  itself. 

And  that  final  day  of  waiting  at  Tulami  was  the 
worst.  It  dragged  interminably,  each  hour  like  a 
thousand  years;  a  broiling,  choking  day  of  chilling 
fears  and  wild,  unreasonable  hopes  that  soared  to  the 
zenith  of  the  impossible,  then  sank  again  with  nause 
ating  suddenness  whenever  she  recalled  to  mind  the 
name  of  Daka. 

McClure  watched  her  curiously  and  anxiously,  and 
did  his  unhappy  best  to  direct  her  interest  toward  all 
manner  of  things — except  Benin  City,  about  which  he 
had  his  own  opinions  and  misgivings.  But  his  efforts 
as  an  entertainer  upon  that  day  were  doomed  to  fail 
ure.  Miss  Severoid  would  meet  his  eyes  and  smile 
and  seem  to  be  all  attention,  and  then  she  would  be 
looking  beyond  him  northward,  and  his  words  would 
fall  upon  barren  places. 


250  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

Cralla  was  not  seen  all  day,  so  it  was  presumed  that 
he  was  taking  advantage  of  the  delay  in  sleep. 

The  natives  grunted  and  screeched  and  squabbled 
and  wallowed  in  pestilential  filth,  dragging  their  dis 
ease-infected  bodies  through  the  daily  grind  of  exist 
ence,  and  clinging  to  their  squalid,  narrow  lives  with 
considerably  more  tenacity  than  those  to  whom  Cape 
Town  is  but  a  suburb  of  London. 

And  then  the  darkness  came  and  the  screeching  and 
the  squabbling  gave  way  to  a  low  murmur  that  finally 
died  into  a  morbid  and  nerve-wrecking  silence;  that 
silence  that  is  more  destructive  than  a  riot. 

It  was  then  that  McClure  had  to  sit  by  Miss  Sever- 
oid's  side  on  the  deal-board  seat,  and  gripping  her 
hands,  prevent  her  from  attempting  to  reach  the  walled 
city  of  Benin  alone. 

She  did  not  see  why  she  could  not.  It  wasn't  far — 
just  a  few  miles  through  the  dark — and  he  was  there, 
waiting  for  her  to  come  to  him  and  take  him  home. 
Clavering  had  said  so  and  surely  Clavering  knew ! 

She  would  go !     She  would !     She  would ! 

With  which  she  stamped  her  small  right  foot  and 
attempted  to  elude  McClure's  substantial  bulk  as  she 
bolted  for  the  door. 

Whereat  the  trader  cast  convention  aside,  and  seiz 
ing  her  in  his  arms,  carried  her,  struggling  and  moan 
ing,  back  to  the  deal-board  seat,  where,  drawing  her 
head  into  the  hollow  of  his  shoulder  and  holding  her 
so  that  she  could  not  move,  he  scolded  her  and  petted 
her  and,  as  he  mentally  phrased  it — "made  a  ruddy 
blubbering  fool  of  himself" — to  the  lasting  amazement 
of  Plymouth  and  the  destruction  of  Ilora's  hopes. 

Presently  Miss  Severoid  was  calm  again.  That  is, 
the  violent  fit  of  frenzy  and  aguelike  trembling  that 
followed  it  subsided,  giving  way  to  the  mercy  of  silent 
tears  which  she  shed  into  one  of  the  pockets  of  Me- 


WITHIN  THE  GATES  251 

Clure's  service  shirt.  After  that  she  felt  much  better, 
though  she  had  difficulty  in  looking  the  trader  straight 
in  the  eyes. 

But  McClure,  who  made  no  comment  upon  her  con 
duct,  treated  her  as  if  it  had  never  been,  asked  no 
questions,  and  remained  steadfastly  by  her  side  dis 
pensing  optimism  till  Cralla  came. 

The  chief,  whose  expression  did  not  indicate  any 
thing  in  particular,  had  very  little  to  say;  simply  that 
whenever  Miss  Severoid  was  ready  they  would  go  on. 
Miss  Severoid  having  been  awake  and  ready  for  at 
least  thirty  hours,  there  was  no  more  time  lost  on  her 
account. 

So  with  the  simple  preliminary  of  seeing  that  there 
was  enough  oil  in  the  lamps  and  that  Miss  Severoid  got 
into  the  hammock  quite  safely,  Cralla's  headman,  in 
the  capacity  of  lamp-boy,  led  the  little  body  of  adven 
turers  out  of  Tulami  upon  the  final  and  most  gloomy 
lap  of  their  adventurous  journey. 

The  carriers  were  left  behind,  but  Ilora  and  Plym 
outh  were  in  their  usual  places  at  the  heels  of  McClure, 
whose  right  hand  rested  upon  the  butt  of  his  revolver 
and  remained  there. 

He  had  no  illusions  about  the  outcome  so  far  as  his 
own  fate  was  concerned.  With  his  eyes  wide  open  he 
was  going  to  what  he  believed  to  be  certain  death,  and 
his  only  hope  was  that  he  would  have  an  opportunity 
to  make  it  a  swift  one.  To  be  food  for  Daka's  amuse 
ment  did  not  appeal  to  him  at  all. 

Of  Miss  Severoid's  future  he  did  not  dare  to  think. 
When  he  did  his  fingers  itched  on  the  revolver  butt. 
Cralla's  life  was  in  jeopardy  many  times  during  those 
three  silent  hours  when,  for  the  greater  part,  the  swish 
and  rustle  of  the  chief's  cloth  about  his  ankles  was  the 
only  sound  in  the  world. 

Several  times  the  ominous  snarl  of  one  of  the  larger 


252  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

wildcat  family  made  Miss  Severoid  feel  chilly.  It  was 
then  that  the  deepest  silences  fell.  The  bush  dogs 
ceased  their  eery  yelping,  and  the  squealing  monkeys 
climbed  rapidly  higher  and  remained  very  quiet  in  a 
quaking  fear.  The  leopard  likes  monkey  meat  and  he 
can  climb  a  long  way  to  get  it. 

The  path  became  a  little  broader,  permitting  Mc- 
Clure  to  walk  comfortably  by  the  side  of  the  hammock. 
Every  little  while  he  whispered  words  of  comfort  to 
its  pale-lipped  but  hopeful  occupant,  who  was  shielded 
by  a  gauzy  mosquito  curtain  from  the  mosquitoes  and 
sandflies  and  other  more  deadly  things  that  flew  and 
lived  upon  human  blood. 

In  a  very  few  minutes,  in  spite  of  the  curtain,  a 
small  soft  hand  came  out,  groped  in  the  darkness  for  a 
little  while,  and,  finding  McClure's  left,  clung  to  two 
fingers  of  it  with  the  tenacity  of  a  leech  and  the  simple 
faith  of  a  child. 

The  trader  straightened  a  little  and  his  grip  upon  the 
revolver  butt  tightened.  The  whole  world  seemed  to 
be  waiting  and  listening  to  hear  the  deep  and  silent 
breath  he  drew. 

Presently,  just  a  few  minutes  after  an  unfriendly 
bush-cat  had  run  foul  of  Cralla's  headman,  and  had 
been  lucky  to  escape  alive  before  the  other  lamp-boy's 
machete  finished  him,  Cralla  swung  round  a  bend  in 
the  path  that  brought  them  under  the  shadow  of  the 
city  wall — a  bend  that,  upon  one  occasion,  was  the 
scene  of  much  slaughter  when  an  ill-advised,  gift-laden 
peace  expedition  to  Benin  City  was  treacherously  be 
trayed  and  almost  annihilated. 

So  peaceful  an  expedition  was  it  that  the  seven  white 
men  who  composed  it  had  their  revolvers  safely  stowed 
away  in  their  traveling  cases,  to  avoid  the  temptation 
of  using  them.  Their  only  weapons  were  short  walk 
ing-canes.  The  spirit  of  the  Beni  may  be  better  under- 


WITHIN  THE  GATES  253 

stood  when  it  is  said  that  with  these  walking-canes, 
assisted  by  a  considerable  number  of  unarmed  Kroo- 
boys  who  were  laden  with  gifts  for  the  chiefs  of  Benin, 
the  intrepid  little  company  repulsed  the  greasy  Beni 
hordes  time  and  again,  till  these  naked  savages,  piling 
up  the  dead  and  wounded  Kroo-boys  across  the  path, 
used  them  as  a  barricade,  and  wreaked  still  more  death 
and  destruction  in  the  ranks  of  the  peaceful. 

Two  of  the  white  men  and  several  of  the  Kroo-boys 
escaped — but  only  one  of  the  whites  reached  civiliza 
tion  with  his  reason  unimpaired. 

Another  white  member  of  the  peace  party  lived  to  be 
taken  into  Benin  City  alive,  and  his  black  boy,  who 
managed  to  escape,  reached  Saloko  and  crawled  into  a 
trader's  office  whining  and  laughing  alternately  and 
jabbering  irrationally  about  crucifixion  and — other 
things. 

Sick  and  heart-broken,  seated  upon  his  traveling 
case  with  a  red  stream  trickling  down  his  face  from  a 
wound  over  the  temple,  while  the  mad  Beni  horde 
pumped  pot-legs  and  rusty  nails  from  their  ancient 
muzzle-loaders  into  the  helpless  pack  of  the  Kroo-boys 
—the  leader  of  the  expedition  was  asked  by  his  fever 
ish  Kroo-boy  attendant  if  he  wanted  his  revolver. 

He  shook  his  head  slowly,  looked  up  through  the 
blood  and  the  smoke,  and  sat  quite  still — waiting. 

And  when  it  came  it  found  him  ready — the  martyr 
of  an  idea  of  his  own — peaceful  to  the  last. 

From  the  bend  to  the  city  wall  was  no  great  dis 
tance,  and  Cralla  did  not  hesitate  a  moment  until  he 
came  to  the  narrow  entrance  that  was  really  an  arcade, 
leading  through  the  solid  breadth  of  the  huge  wall  of 
mud. 

It  has  been  claimed  that  the  wall  was  as  broad  as  it 
was  high.  When  a  chief  of  Benin  died  his  wives  and 
family  and  slaves  and  the  wives  and  family  and  slaves 


254  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

of  his  successor  congregated  upon  the  top  of  the 
wall  where  the  ghastly  funeral  rites  were  performed, 
after  which  the  wives  and  slaves  of  the  deceased 
who  had  been  sacrificed  as  a  tribute  to  the  dead  were 
hurled  with  their  late  master  into  the  reeking  trench 
that  encircled  the  city  upon  the  outside  of  the  wall. 

And  that  was  all  the  burial  they  received. 

At  the  narrow  little  entrance  Cralla  halted,  waiting 
for  McClure  and  the  hammock  bearers  to  come  up  with 
him. 

The  wall  rose  sheer  and  black  into  the  darkness  over 
head;  but  the  unsteady  light  from  the  lanterns  helped 
to  outline  the  entrance,  which,  dark  and  subterranean 
as  it  seemed,  was  apparently  unguarded.  But  perhaps 
Daka  thought  that  the  awful  stench  that  arose  from 
the  burial  ditch  curving  away  to  right  and  left  of  the 
path  would  be  sufficient  to  keep  the  idly  curious  white 
man  away  from  his  door-step. 

It  made  Miss  Severoid  sick  and  faint.  As  she  came 
somewhat  uncertainly  out  of  the  hammock  she  was 
glad  of  the  support  of  McClure's  arm  while  she  gath 
ered  her  scattering  senses  and  realized  that  at  last  she 
was  to  see  Ralph  again — to  hear  him  speak — to  hold 
him  in  her  arms — 

She  saw  McClure  draw  his  revolver  slowly  from  its 
holster.  The  deliberateness  of  the  action  suggested 
very  plainly  the  danger  into  which  she  had  led  him, 
made  her  gulp  and  swallow  once  or  twice,  and  halt  her 
paean  of  joy  until  they  should  be  all  safely  out  of  the 
wood. 

Cralla  muttered  something  in  Beni  to  the  hammock 
bearers,  who  grunted  in  reply  and  retired  a  few  paces, 
apparently  not  at  all  annoyed  at  being  left  outside. 

"No  make  noise,"  Cralla  whispered  to  everybody  in 
general,  but  looked  directly  at  McClure,  whose  eyes 
were  everywhere  at  once,  searching  the  opaque  shadows 


WITHIN  THE  GATES  255 

for  the  first  sign  of  treachery.  "I  go  first.  White 
mammy  follow.  We  no  need  Kroo-boy.  So  fly, 
sof'ly.  Wah!" 

And  without  another  word  or  a  moment  of  waiting 
he  dived  into  the  tunnel-like  passage  through  the  wall 
in  the  wake  of  the  lamp-boys. 

Miss  Severoid  was  the  first  to  make  any  move  in 
pursuit,  and  there  was  little  hesitation  about  her  man 
ner  of  doing  so.  Her  limbs  grew  strong  again  in  a 
second,  the  faintness  passed,  and  some  of  the  frenzy 
of  that  day  came  back  to  her. 

A  queer  little  sound — half  cry,  half  sob — escaped 
her.  Suddenly  lifting  McClure's  left  hand  to  her  lips, 
she  kissed  him  blindly  on  the  thumb-nail,  then  dragged 
him  after  her  into  that  city  of  a  thousand  hells. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE   EXCHANGE 

McCiAJRE  went  willingly. 

He  was  tingling  to  the  roots  of  his  being;  though, 
judged  solely  upon  its  merits  as  a  kiss,  that  hasty  effort 
of  Miss  Severoid's  was  nothing  to  brag  about. 

As  he  vanished  through  the  gateway  he  called  whis- 
peringly  to  Plymouth :  "Wait  till  I  come  out."  The 
Kroo-boy  replied  with  an  unintelligible  grunt  that 
might  have  meant  anything.  Fumbling  at  his  waist- 
cloth,  he  gripped  the  haft  of  an  ugly  knife  and  obeyed. 

But  he  drew  away  from  the  hammock  bearers,  who 
were  Benis,  and  therefore  to  be  held  in  contempt. 

Drawing  her  overcloth  tighter  about  her  neck,  Ilora 
grinned  in  a  sickly,  enigmatical  .sort  of  way  and  fol 
lowed  McClure,  while  the  hammock  bearers,  also  grin 
ning  most  significantly,  squatted  on  their  haunches, 
produced  their  pipes,  and  made  ready  to  wait  in  com 
fort. 

The  Jackrie  girl  had  seen  the  revolver  in  McClure's 
hand.  As  she  trod  almost  on  his  heels  while  they 
passed  into  the  city  her  attention  was  attracted  solely 
to  the  glint  of  the  weapon,  as  though  she  had  a  per 
sonal  interest  in  it. 

There  did  not,  however,  seem  to  be  any  need  for 
the  revolver.  Not  that  there  were  not  shadows  and 
mystery  and  the  constant  threat  of  dangers  unseen. 
The  very  fact  of  the  place  being  Benin  City  created 
those,  both  real  and  imaginary. 

256 


THE  EXCHANGE  257 

But  the  whole  city — which  was  not  so  large  as  the 
name  implies — seemed  to  be  very  sound  asleep,  and 
there  was  not  a  soul  in  sight  to  challenge  any  one.  In 
fact,  the  entrance  was  accomplished  so  simply  that  it 
was  dangerous;  at  least  McClure  thought  so,  and  his 
eyes  were  darting  about  him  swift  as  lightning. 

They  had  not  very  far  to  go;  scarcely  fifty  yards. 
They  passed  a  few  straggling,  outlying  huts  to  a 
slightly  larger  hut  before  which  Miss  Severoid  quickly 
detected  a  light. 

Her  heart  was  beating  like  a  trip-hammer,  and  she 
had  no  thought  of  danger.  She  was  following  Cralla 
and  his  lamp-boys  with  the  sensations  of  one  who 
hoped  and  pleaded  for  much  at  their  hands  and  was 
consequently  feeding  her  hopes  upon  every  step  that 
drew  her  nearer  and  nearer  to  her  heart's  desire. 

The  lamp-boys  made  directly  for  the  compound  with 
the  light  which  came  from  a  small  lantern  held  by  a 
black  colossus  whose  height  and  girth  equaled  Mc- 
Clure's,  and  whose  hideously  marked  face  made  Miss 
Severoid  shudder  as  the  lamplight  fell  upon  it. 

But  he  was  as  meek  as  a  lamb.  At  a  word  from 
Cralla  he  turned  instantly  about  and  led  them  across 
the  compound,  past  shadowy,  sleeping  forms  of  na 
tives,  and  under  vague,  uncanny  shapes  of  things  that 
looked  like  human  heads  hanging  by  the  hair  from  an 
invisible  rope. 

As  least,  Miss  Severoid  thought  that,  and  her  heart 
grew  leaden  and  sank  with  nauseating  suddenness. 

What  if  they  were  too  late?  What  if  Daka  had 
learned  that  Ralph  was  not  black,  but  white  ?  Perhaps 
— perhaps  Ralph's  head  hung — 

Her  head  became  light.  She  saw  Cralla  and  the 
lamps  through  a  haze,  and  it  was  as  if  she  were  fol 
lowing  them  through  space  to  the  blackest  depths  of 
the  bottomless  pit.  And  then,  somehow  or  other,  they 


258  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

reached  the  door  of  the  hut,  where  their  guide,  mum 
bling  something  Miss  Severoid  did  not  understand, 
apparently  wished  them  to  wait  while  he  disappeared 
inside. 

He  was  gone  less  than  a  minute,  but  it  was  an  eter 
nity  to  the  gray-lipped  woman  who  leaned,  sick  and 
faint,  against  McClure,  without  being  actually  aware 
of  the  fact  that  he  was  there. 

The  whole  business  was  all  very  quiet  and  mysteri 
ous;  the  air  was  heavy  and  dank  and  nauseous  with 
unhappy  odors,  and  out  of  that  deadly,  wheezing 
silence  and  those  pitlike  shadows  anything  might  have 
come.  So  that  it  was  not  very  difficult  for  Miss  Sever 
oid  to  suppose  that  the  bunches  of  red-skinned  bananas, 
suspended  from  a  thin  but  tough  rope  of  hide  strips, 
were  heads,  particularly  since  her  imagination  was 
primed  for  that  sort  of  thing. 

McClure  had  not  been  illusioned,  but  in  the  second 
or  two  before  the  giant  Beni  reappeared  and  grunted 
an  invitation  to  them  to  enter  the  hut,  the  trader  com 
mitted  his  soul  to  his  Maker. 

Ilora,  muttering  unintelligible  gibberish  to  herself 
behind  him,  seemed  to  be  similarly  employed.  But 
when  they  went  inside  her  mutterings  ceased,  and  she 
stood  gaping  past  McClure's  elbow  at  the  "white 
mammy,"  who,  with  an  agonizing  moan  of  joy  and 
fear  mingled,  had  instantly  forgotten  everything  and 
every  one,  and  had  sunk  to  her  knees  beside  a  tawny- 
colored  young  negro  who  was  perfectly  bald  and  who 
lay  in  the  center  of  the  floor  upon  mats,  with  his  eyes 
wide  open  in  a  glassy,  unseeing  stare. 

The  colossal  guide  stooped  over  him  with  his  small 
lamp,  and  Cralla's  lamp-boys  added  the  light  of  their 
lanterns  to  help  Miss  Severtfid  see  the  young  man's 
face  more  clearly. 

And  she  quickly  saw  that  though  the  face-markings 


THE  EXCHANGE  259 

upon  his  forehead  and  cheeks  were  those  of  a  Jackrie, 
the  mouth  and  nose  and  eyes  and  chin  were  those  of — 
Ralph  Debenham! 

His  clothing  consisted  of  a  badly  fitting  gray  shirt 
and  an  overcloth  that  was  fastened  about  his  waist, 
Jackrie  fashion.  There  was  no  blanket  or  other  cov 
ering  over  him,  and  there  was  no  furniture  of  any  kind 
in  the  room. 

He  made  scarcely  any  sound  and  gave  no  sign  of 
recognition,  not  even  when  Miss  Severoid,  winding  her 
arms  frantically  about  him  and  holding  his  head  close 
to  her  breast,  passionately  kissed  him  again  and  again, 
and  whispered  chokingly  that  he  should  speak  to  her 
and  know  that  she  had  come  to  take  him  home. 

But  he  only  moved  his  head  a  little  and  a  wheezy 
moan  of  pain  escaped  him  as  if  Miss  Severoid's  em 
brace  hurt.  So  she  laid  him  gently  "down  again,  and 
kneeling  at  his  side,  stared  into  his  tawny  face  as 
though  she  had  been  turned  to  stone. 

She  made  no  outcry  and  shed  no  tears.  But  her 
eyes  had  become  almost  as  glassy  as  Debenham's. 

There  was  no  emotion  in  Cralla's  face.  He  seemed 
to  be  deliberately  standing  apart — just  watching.  He 
was  apparently  willing  enough  to  wait  a  minute  or  two 
until  the  "white  mammy"  realized  of  her  own  accord 
that  there  was  nothing  she  could  do  for  the  "small-boy 
white  man"  in  that  place. 

The  others  just  gaped,  except  Ilora,  who  now  leered 
horribly.  McClure,  in  stupefied  wonder  and  pain, 
chewed  his  mustache,  and,  like  Cralla,  waited  while 
Miss  Severoid  feasted  her  eyes  upon  Debenham's  face 
as  if  she  thought  that  she  might  hypnotically  influence 
him  to  realize  that  she  had  come  for  him. 

McClure  faintly  guessed  what  Debenham's  malady 
was.  He  had  seen  men  in  that  state  of  coma  before, 
when  their  bodies  had  been  racked  with  fever  and  pain 


2<5o  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

for  weeks,  and  their  minds  had  given  up  the  struggle 
to  live  though  their  hearts  beat  faintly  on. 

The  wonderful  thing,  McClure  thought,  was  that 
Debenham  was  alive  at  all ;  more  wonderful,  indeed, 
than  his  tawny-colored  skin  and  Jackrie  face  markings. 
The  trader  could  understand  the  latter,  because  they 
were  visible  and  tangible  facts  that  were  possible  by 
the  use  of  diluted  mango-bark  juice,  charcoal  powder, 
and  probably  black  putty,  though  he  had  never  heard 
of  any  one  being  foolish  enough  to  attempt  to  seriously 
deceive  the  native  with  trickery  of  that  sort. 

Which  made  the  fact  of  Debenham  being  alive  all 
the  more  wonderful. 

Yet,  apart  from  the  dangers  of  death  that  lurked  in 
every  nook  and  cranny  of  that  filthy  fever  and  scourge- 
ridden  city,  Debenham's  life  had  but  once  been  in 
danger  of  a  violent  end. 

A  badly-healed  gash  on  his  left  shoulder,  which  was 
concealed  by  the  ill-fitting  shirt  he  wore,  was  the  me 
mento  he  had  of  that  occasion. 

From  the  moment  he  had  entered  Benin  City  as 
Cralla's  slave  he  had  not  been  allowed  the  satisfaction 
of  fooling  any  one  of  any  consequence  except  himself, 
and  when  he  had  been  presumably  sold  to  Daka,  the 
chief  had  been  perfectly  well  aware  of  the  fact  that  the 
tawny  skin  of  his  new  "purchase"  was  only  make- 
believe;  principally  because  Cralla  had  saved  him  the 
trouble  of  guessing  the  truth  by  previously  advising 
him  of  it. 

In  which  Cralla  was  more  wise  than  treacherous. 

Had  Daka  learned  the  truth  of  his  own  accord  at  a 
time  when  the  chief  of  Akerri  was  absent  in  the  south, 
Debenham's  demise  would  have  l)een  a  thing  of  beauty 
— that  is,  from  Daka's  point  of  view.  And  Cralla — or 
Clavering,  rather — did  not  wish  Debenham  to  die ;  not 
after  he  had  wrested  from  the  young  daredevil  the 


THE  EXCHANGE  261 

story  of  why  he  needed  money  so  badly  that  he  had 
been  willing  to  share  with  Cralla  the  five  thousand 
pounds  offered  for  his,  Clavering's,  capture. 

Debenham's  youthful  intrepidity  had  amused  Claver- 
ing,  but  the  boy's  story  had  given  the  outlaw  an  idea — 
one  that  was  worthy  of  him;  and  when  Clavering  be 
came  possessed  of  an  idea  he  usually  saw  it  through 
to  a  successful  conclusion. 

This  idea  was  really  an  experiment  which  was  to 
begin  by  testing  Debenham's  courage  and  ability;  to 
discipline  him  and  to  wean  him  gradually  away  from 
the  habits  and  thoughts  of  his  own  kind,  and  finally, 
if  the  test  were  worthily  met,  to  train  him  for  pur 
poses  of  his  own. 

Debenham,  however,  was  not  told  anything  about  it, 
nor  did  he  see  the  picturesque  outlaw  again  after  that 
one  and  only  interview  which  had  taken  place  in 
Tomi's  hut  in  Mayona,  to  which  Cralla  and  Ilora  had 
carried  him  after  the  abduction  in  Akerri. 

Clavering  had  said  in  conclusion : 

"All  right,  youngster,  I'll  forgive  you  for  trying  to 
play  Jonathan  Wild  at  my  expense.  But  you'll  have 
to  make  your  peace  with  Cralla  for  tempting  him  into 
danger.  He's  likely  to  get  into  trouble  with  the  gov 
ernment  over  your  disappearance,  and  he  won't  be  very 
keen  about  your  going  back,  because  he's  afraid  you 
might  tell  people  that  he  is  a  good  friend  of  mine,  and 
that  wouldn't  be  very  pleasant  for  him  nor  of  much 
good  to  me. 

"So  it  seems  as  if  you  are  between  the  devil  and  the 
deep  sea,  and  the  only  way  out  seems  to  become  a  bold, 
bad  bandit  like  myself.  But  get  a  bit  of  sleep,  if  you 
can,  and  talk  it  over  with  Cralla  in  the  morning." 

And  then  Clavering  had  vanished.  But  he  left  the 
details  of  his  idea  with  Cralla,  who,  with  many  male 
dictions  upon  Debenham's  head,  refused  to  trust  to 


262  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

his  becoming  a  bandit  or  to  release  him  or  even  to  risk 
having  a  white  man  about  his  person. 

So  he  put  Debenham  into  a  long  sleep,  and  when 
the  boy  awoke  again  he  was  a  blotchy,  tawny  color. 
There  were  puttylike  marks  on  his  forehead  and 
cheeks,  and  he  was  wearing  a  dirty  loin-cloth.  He 
traveled  in  it  to  Benin  City  with  Cralla,  who  "sold" 
him  into  slavery  whether  he  liked  it  or  not. 

The  test  of  Debenham's  courage  and  ability  to  act 
had  begun. 

He  met  it  without  whining,  shut  his  teeth  upon  his 
fate,  unflinchingly  faced  the  death  he  firmly  believed 
menaced  him  on  every  side.  And  every  minute  of  the 
day  and  night  he  hoped  for  a  chance  to  escape — a 
chance  that  never  came. 

Although  he  made  several  little  "breaks"  in  the 
playing  of  the  part  that  had  been  thrust  upon  him, 
these  slips  appeared  to  pass  unnoticed,  and  though  he 
had  the  "luck"  to  become  Daka's  closest  attendant, 
which  kept  him  out  of  the  swelter  and  the  stench  of 
the  slave  compounds,  it  never  occurred  to  him  that 
Daka  was  being  sourly  and  somewhat  unwillingly 
amused  by  having  for  a  personal  attendant  a  "small- 
boy  white  man"  v/ho  was  trying  to  be  black. 

Nor  did  Debenham  dream  that  the  beady-eyed,  fat 
and  greasy  chieftain  of  all  the  Benis  had  given  his 
word  to  Clavering  that  he  would  hold  the  "small-boy" 
in  captivity  until  such  time  as  the  outlaw  desired  to 
free  him. 

Had  Debenham  known  these  things  he  would  prob 
ably  not  have  so  far  forgotten  himself  as  to  resent  the 
lash  of  a  hippo-hide  across  his  shoulders  one  after 
noon  when  Daka  was  in  the  sort  of  humor  that  usually 
ended  in  a  blood-letting  orgy,  upon  which  the  inhuman 
black  mass  of  fat  slept  as  innocently  as  a  child. 


THE  EXCHANGE  263 

But  Debenham  did  forget  his  part,  and  badly,  too, 
before  Daka's  eyes  and  upon  Daka's  person. 

He  remembered  in  that  moment,  as  the  wale  across 
his  shoulders  stung  like  a  red-hot  brand,  that  he  was 
white  and  that  the  hand  that  held  the  hippo-hide  was 
— not.  With  the  result  that  he  instantly  saw  red. 
Flying  like  a  wildcat  at  Daka's  toadying  head  man, 
who  had  been  ordered  by  the  chief  to  administer  the 
lashes  in.  the  "royal"  presence,  Debenham  became  pos 
sessed  of  the  whip  and  used  it  indiscriminately. 

Daka  got  some  of  it  before  the  impulsive  and  sui- 
cidally  reckless  young  man  was  brought  down  by  a 
blow  from  a  machete  which,  intended  for  his  head, 
missed  his  ear  by  a  hair's-breadth  and  stuck  in  his 
shoulder. 

After  which  Daka,  insane  with  rage,  pronounced 
the  death  sentence  by  ordering  him  to  the  slave  com 
pounds — those  that  were  to  furnish  the  "material" 
for  that  evening's  entertainment.  Daka  had  no  other 
course  left  to  him.  His  prestige  demanded  it ;  but  his 
prestige  did  not  demand  it  half  as  much  as  he  did. 

And  just  before  darkness  and  disaster  fell,  Claver- 
ing  came. 

He  had  been  traveling  at  express  speed  for  three 
days,  and  he  had  come  only  for  Debenham,  not  because 
he  thought  the  boy  had  shown  courage  and  ability 
enough  and  had  been  sufficiently  disciplined,  but  be 
cause  his  intention  to  have  a  tried  and  trained  assistant 
had  died  very  suddenly  with  the  advent  of  Miss  Sev- 
eroid  into  Segwanga  about  a  week  before. 

But  he  found  Daka  in  a  very  ugly  mood,  and  in  no 
humor  to  release  any  one  who  had  dared  to  use  a 
hippo-hide  upon  his  beefy  person ;  and  the  more  diplo 
matic  and  patient  Clavering  was,  the  clearer  Daka  saw 
that  the  outlaw  wanted  Debenham  very  badly. 


264  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

Now,  Daka  was  never  so  angry  as  to  ignore  any 
thing  that  might  be  to  his  advantage.  That  was  a 
trait  in  his  character  that  helped  to  make  him  almost 
great. 

He  knew,  too,  that  Clavering  needed  him  quite  as 
much  as  he  needed  Clavering.  Benin  City  had  shel 
tered  Clavering  several  times,  and  the  endorsement  of 
Daka  made  the  outlaw  brother  to  a  king. 

In  return  for  this  Clavering  heaped  Daka  with 
riches — with  oil  and  ivory  and  slaves;  with  guns  that 
killed  at  a  great  distance  and  with  queer  little  jufu 
stones  that  danced  with  a  thousand  fires  or  glowed 
like  a  leopard's  eyes  in  the  night. 

Daka  had  no  intention  of  losing  those  useful  and 
pretty  things,  but  neither  had  Daka  any  intention  of 
allowing  Debenham  to  go  until  he,  Daka,  had  been 
recompensed  for  the  injury  to  his  dignity  and  his  skin. 

So  Clavering  and  he  made  a  bargain;  or,  rather, 
Daka  made  a  bargain  with  Clavering  that  was  really 
an  ultimatum.  The  chief  knew  that,  with  Debenham 
sweltering  and  bleeding  in  a  slave-hut,  he  held  the 
upper  hand. 

For  the  sake  of  Miss  Severoid,  who  had  shed  tears 
on  his  shoulder,  Clavering  agreed  to  fulfil  his  part  of 
the  bargain,  and  the  boy  was  secretly  removed  from 
the  slave  compounds  to  Cralla's  hut.  In  that  place 
Debenham  had  awaited  Cralla's  coming  with  the  price 
of  his  freedom. 

He  did  not  know  why  his  living-quarters  had  been 
changed,  nor  had  he  any  knowledge  of  Covering's 
comings  and  goings.  In  the  interval  the  ugly  gash  in 
his  shoulder  had  not  healed  as  it  should  have. 

The  broiling  heat  of  the  days;  the  suffocating  hu 
midity  of  the  nights ;  the  filth  and  the  squalor  and  the 
choking  confinement  of  the  hut ;  the  ignorance  and  sub 
conscious  brutality  of  his  giant  jailer  and  nurse,  and 


THE  EXCHANGE  265 

the  loss  of  blood — all  these  things  had  combined  to 
make  the  boy  very  ill  indeed;  so  ill  that  even  Daka 
became  afraid  he  might  die — before  Cralla  arrived 
with  Clavering's  part  of  the  bargain. 

However,  Miss  Severoid  knew  nothing  of  these 
things.  She  saw  only  Ralph — tawny-black,  with  hide 
ous,  puttylike  lumps  on  his  cheeks  and  forehead.  His 
eyes  had  no  life  in  them,  and  his  lips  were  cold  and 
irresponsive,  no  matter  how  passionately  she  kissed 
him  or  pleaded  with  him  to  speak  to  her. 

McClure  was  trying  to  watch  her  and  Cralla  and 
every  one  at  once,  with  rather  dubious  results.  Imme 
diately  behind  him,  quite  unnoticed,  Ilora  stood  grin 
ning  with  a  peculiar,  half-hearted  exultation  at  Miss 
Severoid's  grief. 

Every  few  seconds  her  glance  would  switch  quickly 
and  furtively  to  McClure — particularly  to  his  right 
hand,  in  which  his  revolver  glinted  menacingly. 

Cralla  was  also  giving  some  of  his  attention  to  the 
trader's  right  hand.  Apparently  it  bothered  him  a 
little.  He  had  not  expected  Debenham  to  be  so  sick 
that  he  could  not  walk,  and  he  was  afraid  that  McClure 
might  offer  to  carry  him  out. 

Which  would  be  awkward  and  dangerous — for 
Debenham. 

Then  he  said  abruptly:  "We  go.  Time  pass  too 
quick.  Come." 

He  jabbered  something  hurriedly  in  Beni  to  the 
gigantic  slave-driver,  who  instantly  stooped  and,  with 
surprising  suddenness  and  little  ceremony,  seized  Deb 
enham  from  Miss  Severoid's  frantic  arms,  lifted  him 
up  and,  eluding  the  clutching  fingers  of  the  gray- 
cheeked  woman  at  his  feet,  straightway  carried  him 
out. 

Miss  Severoid  screamed,  sprang  up  in  a  second,  and 
with  the  look  of  a  wild  thing  transforming  her  beauti- 


266  [THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

ful  face,  she  ignored  the  startled  McClure — ignored 
everything — to  run  madly  after  the  giant  Beni  and  his 
burden. 

Which  proved  that  Cralla  knew  more  about  human 
nature  than  one  would  have  supposed. 

Miss  Severoid  was  not  thinking  of  what  she  did. 
It  would  have  made  no  difference  where  the  Beni  had 
led — she  would  have  followed. 

And  the  Beni  went  swiftly,  because  that  was  part  of 
the  program;  so  swiftly  that  Miss  Severoid  had  to  run 
to  keep  up  with  him.  She  clutched  at  the  brute's  arm 
in  an  effort  to  stay  him,  but  he  paid  not  the  slightest 
heed ;  only  dragged  her  after  him  across  the  compound 
and  out  of  it  without  a  sign  that  he  knew  she  was 
there. 

McClure  followed  instantly — that  is,  about  three 
seconds  later. 

But  three  seconds  is  an  unconscionable  long  time 
sometimes. 

It  was  quite  long  enough  for  Ilora  to  slip  off  her 
overcloth.  Following  McClure  swiftly,  the  fear  of 
death  stifling  the  animal  cry  of  anguish  that  came  to 
her  throat,  she  leaped  suddenly  forward  and  upward 
just  as  he  stepped  out  into  the  compound,  whirled  the 
cloth  over  his  head,  and  smothered  him  in  its  folds ! 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE   RETURN 

THE  lights  behind  them  went  out. 

A  muffled  oath  came  from  the  choking  folds  of  the 
cloth.  McClure's  great  bulk  instantly  fought  for 
breath  and  to  see.  But  in  that  second — and  time  was 
measured  by  very  minute  fractions  then — a  long,  black 
arm  came  out  of  the  darkness  at  his  feet,  slid  a 
machete  between  his  legs,  and  as  he  wheeled  sharply 
and  blindly  to  face  the  attack,  he  was  hurled  forward 
upon  his  face  with  a  shock  that  put  new  stars  into  the 
firmament  and  deprived  him  of  his  wind,  his  revolver 
and  the  power  to  think. 

Ilora  sprang  back,  quivering  and  moaning  because 
of  the  thing  she,  as  the  least  to  be  suspected,  had  been 
ordered  to  do.  In  an  instant  the  compound  was  alive 
with  evil-smelling  shadows  of  men,  who  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  had  been  asleep. 

Hard  and  heavy  knees  pressed  into  the  small  of 
McClure's  back.  Several  sweating,  grunting  brutes 
with  arms  of  iron  seized  upon  each  leg  and  several 
more  fought  for  the  mastery  of  each  arm.  Clavering 
paid  the  trader's  strength  a  compliment  that  was  the 
result  of  personal  experience  with  it. 

McClure  did  not  cry  out  or  make  any  sound  what 
ever;  just  writhed  and  twisted  and  gritted  his  teeth 
and  exerted  all  the  powers  of  his  great  body  to  throw 
off  the  increasing  weight  of  the  slimy  beings  who 

267 


268  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

whined  and  breathed  with  a  wheezy,  asthmatic  sound 
that  reminded  one  of  pigs  in  a  pound. 

And  then  a  soapy,  wet,  spongelike  thing  was  clai 
over  his  mouth  and  nostrils.     He  drew  three  gasping 
breaths  in  his  struggle  to  escape  the  inevitable — and 
darkness  fell. 

In  a  moment  or  two  more  he  was  pinned  down, 
hand  and  head  and  foot,  like  a  lizard  for  the  sacrifice. 

But  he  had  had  no  chance  from  the  beginning;  and 
Daka,  to  whom  the  price  was  paid,  slept  the  notoriously 
peaceful  sleep  of  one  who,  toiling  not  nor  spinning,  has 
made  a  splendid  bargain. 

"A  white  for  a  white"  had  been  the  sum  of  the  bar 
gain  he  had  made  with  Clavering;  and  a  large,  per 
fectly  healthy  white  man  for  a  half-dead  "small-boy" 
was  undoubtedly  a  good  bargain.  Any  one  will  con 
cede  that ;  particularly  since  Clavering  had  agreed  that 
Daka  could  do  what  he  liked  with  him. 

It  was  the  only  bargain  in  the  matter  of  Debenham's 
release  that  Daka,  holding  the  upper  hand,  would 
make.  Which  possibly  suggests  another  reason  why 
Clavering  so  magnanimously  suggested  McClure  as  an 
escort  for  Miss  Severoid,  and  why  he  had  treated  him 
so  very  nicely  at  Basanna. 

He  knew  that  Daka,  after  the  manner  of  any  other 
merchant,  liked  to  have  his  goods  delivered  to  him  "in 
good  order  and  condition." 

Cralla  was  at  no  time  engaged  in  the  struggle  with 
McClure,  nor  did  he  wait  to  learn  the  result  of  it. 
That  was  a  foregone  conclusion. 

Clambering  into  a  deserted  section  of  the  compound 
through  a  window  on  the  right,  and  diving  through  a 
side  gateway,  he  sped  off  in  pursuit  of  Miss  Severoid, 
who  had  temporarily  forgotten  that  McClure  existed. 

Such  thoughts  as  she  had  of  the  trader  during  those 


THE  RETURN  269 

agonizing  moments  while  she  pursued  the  Beni  were 
very  vague.  "Somewhere  behind"  was  the  sum  of 
them. 

Fearful,  unthinking,  trusting  no  one,  she  ran  at  the 
slave-driver's  heels,  hearing  uncanny  sounds  behind 
her  to  which  she  paid  no  heed ;  and  saw  nothing  but  a 
perfectly  bald  head  and  a  tawny  arm  that  swung  limply 
over  the  Beni's  shoulder. 

She  caught  at  the  hand  and  held  it  and  sobbed  in 
coherent  pleadings  as  she  ran,  asking  herself  chokingly 
if  he  would  never  speak  to  her — never  look  into  her 
face  and  know  that  she  had  come  all  the  way  from 
London  to  take  him  home. 

And  then  she  heard  the  patter  of  naked  feet  behind 
her,  and  Cralla's  voice,  hoarse  with  terrifying  tidings, 
came  out  of  the  eery  darkness  that  enveloped  them. 

"Make  quick!  Make  quick!  Daka  come  and 
all  man  go  die!  Re-yawl  Yella!  Yella!  Yella! 
Make  quick!  Daka  come!" 

Fear  clutched  at  Miss  Severoid's  heart  with  an  icy 
hand;  not  fear  for  herself,  but  for  the  almost  lifeless 
burden  the  Beni  carried,  and  when  his  pace  increased, 
a  silent  prayer  of  thankfulness  went  up  to  Heaven. 
He  could  not  go  fast  enough  then. 

Before  she  realized  where  they  were  going  or  why — 
with  Cralla  at  her  heels  holding  the  threat  of  Daka's 
coming  over  her  head — she  was  following  the  Beni 
through  the  pitch-black,  tunnel-like  gateway  of  the 
city,  and  in  a  few  moments  more  was  helping  to  place 
Debenham  into  the  hammock,  oblivious  of  everything 
but  the  wish  to  get  him  away  from  there  with  all  pos 
sible  speed. 

And  there  was  not  a  moment  lost. 

Cralla's  hoarse,  fear-filled  voice  dominated  every 
thing,  lending  the  proper  sort  of  atmosphere  and  incen 
tive  to  hasty  flight,  and  Miss  Severoid  did  not  stop 


270  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

even  to  look  around.  Though  they  had  no  lamps  she 
did  not  think  of  it,  but  clinging  to  the  hammock  straps 
she  kept  pace  with  the  hurrying  bearers — whose  eyes 
were  as  good  as  a  cat's  in  the  dark — urging  them  on 
and  on,  always  vaguely  understanding  that  McClure 
was  somewhere  behind. 
Plymouth  did  not  follow. 

Very  much  surprised  at  everything — confused  by  it 
in  fact — having  no  knowledge  of  the  reason  for  any 
of  the  excitement,  except  that  the  place  was  Benin  City 
and  that  Daka  was  a  name  to  fear,  the  whites  of  the 
Kroo-boy's  eyes  gleamed  spasmodically  like  a  revolving 
light  Clutching  the  haft  of  his  knife  with  a  nervous 
hand  he  waited  for  his  master  to  come  out,  as  he  had 
been  told  to  do ;  not  because  he  was  a  hero  exactly,  but 
because  McClure  had  pounded  obedience  into  him  with 
the  weight  of  his  good  right  fist. 

Plymouth  was  just  as  afraid  to  go  as  he  was  to  stay. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  lamp-boys,  with  their  lanterns 
relit,  emerged  from  the  tunnel-like  hole  in  the  wall. 

"Where  is  Mas'  MaClu'?"  the  Kroo-boy  asked  at 
once  and  suspiciously,  as  the  sound  of  Cralla's  voice 
was  dying  into  the  distance. 

But  the  lamp-boys  only  grinned  and  sped  after  the 
others,  leaving  Plymouth  gaping  and  still  more  suspi 
cious.  When  Ilora  came  out  a  little  while  later,  sul 
lenly  and  slowly,  he  leaped  at  her,  and  seizing  her  arm 
in  a  grip  that  made  her  squeal,  held  his  knife  at  her 
throat. 

"Where  is  Mas' MaClu'?" 

Ilora  drew  a  long,  hissing  breath.  She  had  a 
healthy  horror  of  dying — like  that ;  and  she  could  feel 
the  point  of  the  blade  pricking  her  skin. 

She  had  been  trying  to  quiet  her  savage  soul  with 
the  belief  that  she  did  not  care  whether  McClure  was 
sacrificed  or  not,  and  that  the  part  she  had  played  was 


THE  RETURN  271 

really  something  of  which  to  be  proud,  since  he  loved 
the  smooth-skinned  "white  mammy."  But  she  had 
snatched  his  revolver  from  the  Beni  who  had  found  it, 
saying  Cralla  wanted  it,  without,  however,  having  any 
intention  of  giving  it  to  the  chief. 

It  was  a  toy  and  a  fetish  both,  which  she  would  play 
with  and  worship  and  perhaps  use. 

Her  hand,  under  cover  of  her  overcloth,  was  upon 
the  butt  at  that  moment,  and  Plymouth  had  no  knowl 
edge  of  how  near  to  death  he  was  as  the  girl,  muttering 
in  Jackrie  to  gain  time,  drew  the  weapon  slowly  from 
the  waistband  of  her  undercloth  and,  without  bringing 
it  into  plain  sight,  turned  the  muzzle  straight  at  the 
most  of  him. 

But  she  did  not  shoot.     She  was  afraid  of  the  noise. 

"Where  is  MaClu'  ?"  the  Kroo-boy  demanded  again 
in  a  hoarse  whisper,  his  ears  straining  to  catch  the 
faintest  sound,  either  hostile  or  friendly. 

"He— fell — down,"  Ilora  answered  jerkily,  and 
drew  her  head  away  a  little  from  the  knife  point. 

She  spoke  in  Jackrie,  with  a  few  English  words. 
"Many  men  came  and  leaped  upon  him.  The  'White 
Mammy'  and  Chief  Cralla  and  the  lamp-boys  ran. 
But  I  waited  a  while  and  I  found  this — see?" 

She  produced  the  revolver  with  such  suddenness  and 
thrust  it  into  Plymouth's  abdomen  with  such  force  that 
he  gave  vent  to  a  thick  grunt  and  simultaneously  re 
leased  his  grip  upon  Ilora's  arm. 

The  girl  sprang  back  a  pace,  grinning.  She  was 
lithe  as  a  puma  and  as  swift,  whereas  the  Kroo-boy 
was  squat  and  rather  slow  to  move,  both  mentally  and 
physically.  He  stood  stock-still,  gathering  his  breath 
and  his  senses,  and  tried  to  understand  all  that  the 
glinting  weapon  in  Ilora's  hand  really  meant. 

Cralla's  voice  died  away,  and  the  city  behind  them 
was  silent  as  the  tomb.  The  scurrying  of  a  bush-cat 


272  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

through  the  underbrush,  the  frightened  squeaking  of 
an  infant  monkey  overhead  and  Plymouth's  thick,  ster 
torous  breathing  were  the  only  sounds  that  disturbed 
that  morbid  quiet. 

"Da — Daka  came — and  caught — MaClu'?"  the 
Kroo-boy  asked  in  Jackrie  at  last  in  a  bated  whisper, 
staring  stupidly  and  affrightedly  at  the  girl. 

"I  think  so.  Many  men  came  and  jumped  on  his 
back  and  the  'White  Mammy'  and  Cralla  ran  away.  I 
waited  a  while,  but  I  am  but  a  woman,  so  I  could  do 
naught  for  Mas'  MaClu'.  But  I  found  this  'shoot- 
palaver  t'ing,'  and  I  came  away.  Why  do  you  threaten 
me  with  your  knife?  Do  you  not  like  me — a  little?" 

The  Kroo-boy  did  not  know  whether  he  liked  her 
much  or  little  just  then.  But  he  did  know  that  she 
had  McClure's  revolver  in  her  hand,  and  that  McClure 
was  in  Benin  City  with  "many  men"  sitting  on  his 
back,  and  that  if  he,  Plymouth,  did  not  get  away  from 
there  in  a  great  hurry,  he  would  probably  have  "many 
men"  sitting  on  his  back,  too.  Which  was  a  prospect 
he  did  not  care  for  at  all. 

So,  being  nothing  more  than  a  Kroo-boy,  who  had 
never  heard  of  the  boy  who  stood  on  the  burning  deck 
— and  would  not  have  understood  or  emulated  his  ex 
ample  if  he  had — he  did  the  only  obvious  thing  for 
him  to  do. 

He  shot  one  last,  fear-filled  look  at  the  darkly  omi 
nous  portals  of  the  dread  city,  uttered  a  low,  whining 
wail  for  the  peace  of  McClure's  soul — and  bolted. 

Ilora  did  not  move  for  quite  a  while  after  that.  A 
contemptuous  grin  faded  with  the  dying  away  of  the 
Kroo-boy's  pattering  feet.  Her  head  sank  between 
her  shoulders,  her  knees  sagged  and  she  slipped  into  a 
huddling  heap  without  a  sound.  There  were  no  wail- 
ings  and  no  tears. 


THE  RETURN  27$ 

Hugging  the  cold  steel  of  McClure's  revolver  to  her 
naked  breasts,  she  writhed  and  twisted  on  the  ground 
in  a  fearsome,  savage  agony,  in  which  the  grinding  of 
her  teeth  and  the  sharp,  hissing  breaths  she  drew  were 
the  only  sounds  she  made. 

It  was  not  a  delectable  performance,  and  it  was  all 
the  more  weird  and  ghastly  because  she  was  alone  in 
that  shroud  of  silence  and  darkness.  Even  the  infant 
monkey  overhead  had  stopped  its  plaintive  squeaking, 
perhaps  to  watch  the  queer  human  below,  whose  eyes 
were  ablaze  and  whose  face  was  distorted  in  a  hatred 
that  was  not  good  to  look  upon. 

She  breathed  strange  and  awful  curses  upon  Cralla 
and  his  house  till  it  must  surely  have  rocked  upon  its 
foundations,  and  she  tore  Miss  Severoid  limb  from 
limb  and  cast  her  into  the  fire.  Lying  flat  upon  the 
ground,  Ilora  watched  the  white  mammy's  pink-white 
skin  become  black  and  shriveled,  and  grinned  horribly 
at  the  sight. 

A  lizard  scurried  in  flight  from  the  bush  and  ran 
across  her  ankles.  But  she  did  not  stir  for  several 
minutes  after  that.  In  fact,  her  grin  broadened  and 
she  believed  it  a  good  omen,  particularly  if  the  lizard 
had  had  a  golden  head  and  a  blue-black  tail. 

That  was  the  hope  upon  her  mind  as  she  rose  slowly 
to  her  feet  and  set  off  at  a  slouching  gait  in  pursuit  of 
Cralla  and  Miss  Severoid,  both  of  whom,  judging  by 
the  look  in  the  girl's  eyes,  were  marked  for  slaughter. 

Clinging  to  the  hammock-straps,  running  a  few 
steps,  then  walking  and  running  again,  Miss  Severoid 
was  nearer  to  Tulami  than  to  Benin  City  before  she 
even  became  suspicious  of  the  fact  that  McClure  was 
not  "somewhere  behind."  She  had  gone  on  for  a 
while  in  utter  darkness,  and  then,  ages  afterward,  the 


274  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

lamp-boys  came  and  led  the  way;  which,  of  course, 
helped  to  encourage  the  belief  that  McClure  was 
"somewhere  behind." 

And  there  was  nothing  very  sudden  about  the  man 
ner  in  which  the  whole  truth  came  home  to  her.  It 
was  a  gradual  process,  beginning  with  a  few  doubtful 
looks  behind.  Then  she  saw  Plymouth's  squat  figure 
a  little  to  Cralla's  right,  which  led  to  a  frightened 
mental  question,  to  alternating  fears  and  hopes,  and 
finally  to  the  whispered  calling  of  McClure's  name. 

To  which  there  was  no  answer. 

So  she  called  it  again,  louder  this  time,  in  case  he 
had  not  heard,  and  waited  with  bated  breath  for  his 
reply. 

Cralla  paid  not  the  slightest  heed,  but  came  on  at 
the  same  driving  pace,  forcing  the  hammock-bearers  to 
keep  step  with  him.  He  did  not  even  smile  at  the 
futility  of  Miss  Se-.xroid  calling  for  a  man  who  was 
in  Daka's  inhuman  grasp — which  was  infinitely  worse 
than  if  he  were  dead. 

But  Plymouth  heard  the  white  mammy  call  his  mas 
ter's  name,  and  his  sluggish  mind  struggled  to  decide 
whether  he  should  presume  to  tell  her  that  McClure 
was  in  "Benin  Cit'  with  plenty  men  sitting  on  him 
back." 

Plymouth  was  somewhat  afraid  of  the  white 
mammy,  principally  because  he  had  seen  that  McClure 
and  Cralla  and  the  white  soldier-man  named  Maybrick 
had  always  spoken  to  her  very  quietly,  as  if  they  were 
afraid  of  her,  too.  So,  of  course,  if  they  were  afraid 
of  her,  he,  being  only  a  Kroo-boy,  was  much  more  so. 

"Mr.  McClure!" 

This  time  Miss  Severoid  stopped,  tugged  upon  the 
hammock-straps,  and  forced  the  bearers  to  follow  her 
example. 

But  only  for  a  second.     Cralla  was  so  close  behind 


THE  RETURN  275 

that  he  almost  collided  with  them,  and  a  harsh  Beni 
oath  sent  them  forward  again,  dragging  Miss  Severoid 
along  whether  or  no. 

"Stop!"  It  was  very  near  a  scream.  "Stop,  you 
beasts!  I  won't  go  a  step  farther!  Mr.  McClure!" 

The  hammock-bearers  stopped.  So  did  the  lamp- 
boys  and  Plymouth  and  Cralla.  The  still  figure  in  the 
hammock  moaned,  and  the  whimpering  cry  of  a  fright 
ened  bush-puppy  answered  it. 

Something  large  and  yellow  and  spotted,  with  eyes 
that  burned  green  fire,  crashed  through  the  bush  with 
a  terrifying,  blood-curdling  snarl  of  rage;  plunged  as 
an  arrow  into  the  teeth  of  the  very  annoying  lamps, 
wiped  one  of  them  and  the  boy  who  held  it  from 
its  path  like  tissue-paper,  and  tore  on  into  the  bush 
upon  the  other  side,  considerably  more  afraid  of  its 
life  even  than  Miss  Severoid,  who  was  so  startled  that 
she  could  not  utter  a  sound. 

A  scream  died  in  her  throat,  and  she  knew  the  need 
of  McClure  probably  more  than  she  ever  had  as  she 
swayed  against  the  hammock  and  saw  Cralla's  head 
man  shed  the  light  of  his  lantern  upon  the  other  lamp- 
boy.  His  face  was  a  sickening  red  blur,  and  he  lay 
upon  his  side  in  a  crumpled  heap,  very,  very  still. 

The  startled  and  angry  leopard's  wild  charge  had 
knocked  the  breath  of  life  out  of  his  body,  and  a 
vicious  side-sweep  of  its  right  foreclaws  had  torn  half 
of  his  face  away. 

And  it  was  that,  as  a  climax  to  all  that  had  gone 
before,  that  made  Miss  Severoid's  heart  come  up  into 
her  throat  and  choke  her  as  the  flickering  light  of  the 
solitary  lantern  went  out,  and  she  dropped  into  a 
darkness  that  was  the  color  of  deep-red  blood. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE   AWAKENING 

Miss  SEVEROID  had  no  knowledge  of  how  she 
reached  Tulami;  did  not  even  know  that  Debenham 
was  carried  there  on  Plymouth's  broad  back  and  she 
was  given  his  place  in  the  hammock. 

When  things  became  tangible  again  the  filtering 
gray  of  the  dawn  had  come,  and  she  was  lying  in  a 
camp-bed  in  a  stuffy  little  hut,  with  Ilora  in  the  fore 
ground  and  Cralla  looming  darkly  behind  her. 

There  was  no  sign  of  McClure  or  Plymouth  or 
Ralph,  so  that  when  the  Jackrie  girl,  meek  and  mild 
as  a  nun,  tried  to  make  her  drink  something  that  had 
no  taste  she  would  have  none  of  it. 

Instead,  with  a  riot  of  questions  tumbling  about  in 
her  head,  she  sat  up  suddenly  and  swept  the  dingy  place 
with  a  single  frightened  glance.  She  heard  a  low, 
wheezy  moan  from  somewhere  behind  Cralla. 

Springing  up  without  a  thought  of  the  consequences, 
she  tottered  dizzily  past  the  chief,  to  sink  heavily  to 
her  knees  beside  the  startled  Plymouth.  He  was 
kneeling  by  Debenham's  side,  applying  cold  cloths  as 
per  directions  to  the  invalid's  fevered  forehead. 

Debenham  was  lying  upon  mats,  but  with  a  blanket 
over  him  this  time.  Also,  his  tawny  skin  had  given 
way  to  its  proper  color — or,  rather,  to  a  very  pale  yel 
low — which  had  surprised  Plymouth  very  much,  since 
he  had  carried  an  unknown  Jackrie  into  Tulami  and 
was  now  doing  his  clumsy  best  to  nurse  Marsden  & 

276 


THE  AWAKENING  277 

Co.'s  vanished  oil  clerk  back  to  consciousness.  He 
had  not  witnessed  the  transformation. 

Debenham's  eyes  were  terribly  sunken,  his  cheeks 
thin  and  wasted,  his  body  hardly  more  than  skin  and 
bones.  But  since  his  color  had  changed  there  seemed 
to  be  a  little  more  life  in  his  face,  though  there  was 
still  no  recognition  in  his  look. 

A  pillow  had  been  placed  under  his  head,  and  an 
other  helped  to  make  matters  easier  for  his  shoulder, 
the  wound  in  which  had  opened  again  as  a  result  of 
the  jolting  he  had  received.  But  it  had  been  properly 
cleansed  and  dressed  by  a  hand  that  had  known  what 
it  was  about. 

He  had  also  been  gifted  a  new  suit  of  pajamas. 
Mention  of  this  is  made  partly  because  they  fitted  him, 
and  greatly  to  instance  that  when  Clavering  planned 
he  omitted  nothing. 

Miss  Severoid  could  only  guess  who  had  wrought 
these  vast  improvements.  When  the  bulging  of  the 
bandages  betrayed  that  there  was  something  wrong 
with  Ralph's  shoulder  she  made  an  instant  examination 
and  found  that  there  was  nothing  she  might  have  done 
that  had  not  already  been  done — perhaps  a  little  better. 

So  she  simply  knelt  there  for  a  while,  biting  her  col 
orless,  trembling  lips,  and  tried  to  understand  things 
better  while  she  watched  the  spasmodic  twitchings  of 
the  boy's  mouth  and  the  dull,  lifeless  look  in  his  eyes. 

Then,  taking  the  cooling  cloth  from  Plymouth's 
gnarled  hands  and  placing  it  gently  on  Ralph's  fore 
head,  she  turned  her  head  to  question  Cralla.  He  had 
gone. 

Ilora,  however,  was  watching  her  with  a  quiet  and 
friendly  interest — dangerously  friendly.  There  was 
no  malice  in  the  girl's  look — not  a  trace  of  any — prin 
cipally  because  that  was  no  time  or  place  to  show  it. 
She  was  sure  that  somewhere  between  Tulami  and 


278  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

Segwanga  her  chance  would  come  as  it  had  come  be 
fore — though  she  had  bungled  it  then — and  she  had 
no  intention  that  there  would  be  anything  sudden  about 
Miss  Severoid's  demise. 

In  fact,  she  would  have  liked  nothing  better  than  to 
make  a  night  of  it,  just  as  she  was  sure  that  Daka 
would  get  several  evenings'  amusement  out  of  Mc- 
Clure,  who  was  big  and  strong  and  would  last  longer 
than  the  average  mortal. 

Ilora  did  not  believe,  however,  that  she  would  be  so 
fortunate  as  to  have  one  whole  night  of  ecstatic  joy  at 
the  expense  of  Miss  Severoid's  smooth,  pink  and  white 
body.  But  she  dreamed  of  an  hour — just  an  hour! 

Then  she  would  shoot  Cralla  through  the  head, 
drink  some  of  the  clear  white  water  out  of  a  bottle  she 
would  find  in  his  black,  tarpaulin-covered  carrier's 
pack,  and  drift  into  eternity,  dragging  Miss  Severoid's 
machete-hacked  body  behind  her. 

It  was  a  glorious  prospect,  and  one  worth  waiting 
for. 

"Where — where  is  he?"  Miss  Severoid  whispered 
anxiously. 

"Cralla  go  look  carrier  man,"  Ilora  answered  re 
spectfully,  and  sounds  of  awakening  life  without 
seemed  to  bear  out  the  statement. 

"And — and  Mr.  McClure?  Why  doesn't  he — why 
didn't  he  answer  me  when  I  called  to  him  before" — 
she  shivered — "before — it — happened  ?" 

Ilora's  face  fell  sympathetically.  She  shook  her 
head. 

"Mas'  MaClu'  no  here.  He  fall  down  in  Benin  Cit' 
them  time  Daka  come,  and  plenty  man  come  and  sit  on 
him  back  so  he  no  fit  to  get  up.  I  wait  HT  bit,  but  I 
be  so-so  woman.  I  no  fit  to  fight  man.  But  I  find 
dis  shoot-palaver  t'ing  and  I  bring  it  to  you" — and 


THE  AWAKENING  '279 

here  Ilora  became  ineffably  simple — "  'cause  I  t'ink 
you  like  Mas'  MaClu'  HT  bit— no  be  so?" 

And,  producing  McClure's  revolver  from  the  folds 
of  her  cloth,  she  held  it  out  apologetically  to  Miss  Sev- 
eroid. 

Thereby  she  earned  Plymouth's  sluggish  approval, 
disarmed  all  suspicion  against  herself  in  the  matter  of 
McClure's  downfall,  placed  the  revolver  into  hands 
from  which  it  could  very  easily  be  stolen  when  wanted, 
eliminated  the  danger  of  Cralla  finding  it  in  her  pos 
session,  and,  most  important  of  all,  created  a  bond  of 
sympathy  between  herself  and  her  mistress  that  would 
tend  to  make  the  latter  a  trusting  victim  when  the  for 
mer's  trap  was  ready. 

Ilora  was  not  in  Clavering's  employ  for  nothing. 

There  was  no  strength  or  feeling  in  Miss  Severoid's 
fingers  as  they  closed  about  the  proffered  weapon. 
Fear  and  unbelief,  and  then  a  dull  agony,  came  into 
her  face — an  agony  that  choked  her.  Her  bloodless 
lips  parted  stupidly,  and  her  cheeks  became  hollow  in 
a  moment. 

She  rose  very  slowly,  holding  her  breath. 

"He— he's  taken— by  Daka!" 

"Yes'm!  Daka  come.  He  take  Mas'  MaClu' 
'way." 

Miss  Severoid  wavered  a  step  or  two,  and  an  icy 
chill  made  her  shudder  violently.  Her  arm  passed 
wearily  across  her  eyes,  and  she  groped  a  few  uncer 
tain  feet;  then  stopped  again  and  stood  quite  still — so 
very  still  and  quiet  that  she  might  have  been  of  marble 
rather  than  of  flesh  and  blood. 

The  cries  of  waking  children,  the  scuffling  of  feet, 
and  the  excited  screech  of  men's  voices  were  to  her  as 
vague  murmurings  that  came  from  a  great  distance. 

Ilora  shuffled  toward  the  camp-bed  and  grinned  as 


280  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

she  made  a  pretense  of  rearranging  the  covers. 
Plymouth  took  the  cloth  from  Ralph's  forehead  and 
replaced  it  with  another.  He  was  watching  the  "white 
mammy"  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes  at  the  same 
time,  and  looked  rather  frightened. 

He  saw  her  straighten  and  stiffen,  and  saw  her  lips 
and  teeth  come  together  with  such  deliberate  slowness 
that  there  was  no  doubting  the  fact  that  she  had  come 
to  a  decision  of  some  sort. 

When  she  turned  to  Ilora  again  there  was  no  fear 
or  pain  or  any  emotion  whatsoever  in  her  face. 

"Tell  Cralla  I  would  like  to  speak  to  him,  please." 

Her  voice  was  in  keeping  with  her  glance — quiet 
and  decisive  and  unimpassioned. 

Ilora  looked  as  though  she  had  made  a  serious  mis 
take,  and  she  did  not  meet  Miss  Severoid's  eyes.  They 
frightened  her. 

"Yes'm,"  she  answered  respectfully  and  slipped 
noiselessly  out;  and  her  respectfulness  in  this  instance 
was  not  assumed. 

Miss  Severoid  did  not  stir;  did  not  even  glance  in 
Ralph's  direction.  She  knew  that  if  she  did  she  would 
never  retain  the  grip  upon  herself  that  was  necessary 
for  what  she  had  to  do. 

But  the  mental  torment  of  these  few  minutes  of 
waiting  was  as  nothing  to  what  was  to  come. 

Ilora  came  in  again  rather  excitedly. 

"Cralla  no  clere.  He  go  'way.  I  t'ink  so  he  fear 
you  an'  go  fin'  Mas'  Claverin'." 

Miss  Severoid  winced,  and  the  steely  blue  in  her 
eyes  gave  way  to  a  dull  leaden  color.  But  she  uttered 
no  word  of  protest  and  displayed  no  impatience;  just 
put  McClure's  revolver  away  in  her  little  uniform-case, 
moved  quietly  to  a  camp-chair,  seated  herself  and — 
waited. 

There  was  nothing  else  for  her  to  do ;  only  to  wait 


THE  AWAKENING  281 

and — to  think.  The  thinking  seemed  likely  to  drive 
her  mad. 

Whether  Cralla  had  betrayed  McClure  into  Daka's 
hands  was  not  certain,  but  whether  he  had  or  not  she 
knew  very  well  that  if  McClure  died  in  Benin  City,  she 
would  have  his  murder  upon  her  conscience  as  long  as 
she  lived.  And  she  knew,  too,  that  she  had  learned  to 
love  the  big,  broad  man,  whose  trusting,  patient  and 
silent  devotion  had  been  even  bigger  and  broader  than 
himself. 

Of  course,  he  had  joined  the  expedition  of  his  own 
accord.  She  had  not  even  asked  him  to  accompany 
her;  that  is,  not  in  words.  But  she  knew  what  her 
eyes  and  her  lips  and  her  smiles  had  done.  They  had 
done  it  deliberately,  too,  just  as  they  had  enrolled 
Clavering  into  her  service  and  betrayed  Maybrick 
into  the  outlaw's  trap  at  Mayona. 

She  did  not  try  to  shuffle  from  under  the  burden  of 
her  responsibility,  made  no  excuses  for  herself,  but 
faced  the  whole  truth  and  writhed  under  its  lash  much 
more  keenly  than  Ilora  had  done  under  the  biting  pun 
ishment  of  Cralla's  hippo-hide  at  Basanna. 

And  yet  the  torturing  excoriations  of  conscience  and 
the  sharp,  knifelike  stabs  of  pain  that  seemed  to  be 
tearing  her  heart  and  soul  to  shreds  were  not  unmixed 
with  mercy.  For  instance,  she  did  not  know  that  Mc 
Clure  had  been  the  price  paid  for  the  pale-yellow, 
wasted  boy  who  lay  in  the  far  corner  of  the  room, 
moaning  every  little  while  as  if  to  prove  that  he  was 
still  alive. 

Had  she  known  that,  the  possibility  is  that  she  would 
have  gone  quite  mad,  or  at  least  have  done  something 
very,  very  desperate  during  that  terrible  hour  of  wait 
ing,  the  minutes  of  which  were  heaped  like  leaden 
weights  upon  her  shoulders,  dragging  her  deeper  and 
deeper  into  the  darkness  of  despair. 


282  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

Her  eyes  were  heavy  with  lack  of  sleep,  but  nothing 
was  further  from  her  mind.  The  very  mention  of  it 
would  probably  have  made  her  hysterical. 

Once,  and  only  once,  did  she  glance  in  Ralph's  direc 
tion  ;  but  that  was  enough,  though  she  did  not  go  to  his 
side  in  any  hnste  or  frenzy.  She  just  knelt  beside  him 
quietly,  and  once  more  relieved  Plymouth  of  his  duties 
as  nurse. 

"All  right.  Thank  you.  You  may  go  out  if  you 
care  to.  I'll  manage." 

"Yes'm." 

The  Kroo-boy  rose  and  shuffled  out  with  his  hand 
upon  the  haft  of  his  knife.  He  was  not  at  all  sure  of 
his  status  since  McClure  was  not  there. 

Ilora  had  gone  out  to  prepare  breakfast. 

Ralph's  meanings  were  becoming  less  wheezy,  and 
his  breathing  was  just  a  little  easier.  There  was  also 
a  faint,  a  very  faint,  sign  of  life  in  his  eyes. 

Miss  Severoid  plied  his  forehead  with  cooling  cloths 
with  a  calm  that  was  much  colder  than  the  water  in 
which  the  cloths  were  dipped.  She  watched  the  move 
ment  of  his  lips  in  silence,  and  once,  looking  at  him 
very  intently,  it  was  as  if  she  were  asking  herself 
whether  or  not  he  had  been  worth  all  that  his  freedom 
had  cost. 

Apparently  she  doubted  it,  and  the  doubt  evidently 
hurt  very  much,  because  her  mouth  twisted  with  the 
pain  of  it  and  her  glance  flinched  and  shifted  quickly 
and  guiltily  toward  the  door. 

And  then  she  heard  a  sharp,  hissing  sound  and  a 
feeble,  startled  cry,  and,  turning  her  head  swiftly,  she 
saw  that  the  film  had  dropped  from  Ralph's  eyes,  and 
that  he  was  affrightedly  trying  to  rise. 

The  moment  she  turned  her  head,  however,  his 
struggles  ceased.  A  nameless  sound  came  from  his 
throat,  and  he  stared  at  her  as  at  a  ghost. 


THE  AWAKENING  283 

Her  look  softened  instantly,  and  her  firm  lips  quiv 
ered  and  broke  in  a  smile  that  was  filled  with  tears, 
and  her  hand  went  out  almost  timidly  and  touched  his 
cheek. 

"Ralph!     Ralph,  dear!" 

Her  voice  was  as  the  whispering  of  the  leaves  on  a 
summer  night,  and  Ralph's  answer  was  a  hideous  grin. 
He  thought  it  was  part  of  his  torment,  and  the  screech 
ing  voices  without  lent  color  to  the  surmise. 

"Ralph!  Oh,  boy,  boy!  Can't  you  see  me?  I've 
come  to  take  you  home !" 

A  hollow  groan  answered  her.  The  boy's  eyes 
searched  her  face  wildly,  and  he  tried  desperately  to 
get  a  grip  upon  his  tongue. 

"Bess !" 

The  name  came  wheezily  and  fearfully  from  his 
cracking  throat,  and  in  an  instant  later  he  knew  that 
she  was  real  ^as  the  passionate  warmth  of  her  lips 
pressed  upon  his  own. 

His  good  arm  came  weakly  from  beneath  the  covers 
and  his  fingers  tremblingly  felt  her  shoulders.  Then, 
further  assured  that  she  was  really  there,  the  look  of 
terror  in  his  face  died  out,  and  his  tired  eyelids  slowly 
drooped. 

"Bess !"  he  whispered  again,  and  again  the  proof  of 
her  lips  was  there  as,  with  the  sound  of  distant  sobbing 
in  his  ears,  he  floated  off  into  a  new  oblivion. 

But  this  time  he  was  asleep. 

Neither  of  them  saw  Clavering  in  the  doorway. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE   RECKONING 

THERE  was  a  faint,  flickering  smile  in  the  corners  of 
the  outlaw's  mouth  and  a  quiet  satisfaction  in  his  look 
that  was  not  compatible  with  his  cold-blooded  betrayal 
of  McClure. 

Dressed  as  he  had  been  when  Miss  Severoid  had 
seen  him  at  Mayona,  there  was  an  easy  confidence  in 
his  attitude  and  a  peculiar  something  in  his  face  which 
accepted  the  denouement  he  had  witnessed  with  a  sub 
lime  toleration  that  laughed  softly  at  it  even  while  his 
expression  plainly  said : 

"There  you  are!     I  planned  that.     Pretty,  isn't  it?" 

But  he  did  not  speak  nor  move  till  Miss  Severoid, 
raising  her  head  again,  looked  sharply  around  and  saw 
him  there. 

Clavering  was  sure  that  he  had  never  looked  upon 
any  woman  one-half  so  beautiful  as  she  was  then,  in 
spite  of  her  tear-streaked  cheeks. 

Her  great  blue  eyes  were  wide  in  astonishment,  like 
a  child's,  and  glistening  drops  hung  upon  her  long, 
dark  lashes  like  precious  stones.  Her  lips,  moist  and 
warm  and  dangerously  tempting,  trembled  uncertainly 
as  she  rose  slowly  to  her  feet,  eying  Clavering  as 
though  she  were  not  sure  whether  to  be  afraid  of  him 
or  not. 

Certainly  she  was  not  afraid  of  him  because  of  her 
deep,  almost  fanatical,  interest  in  Ralph  Debenham, 
the  story  of  which  may  be  told  in  a  very  few  words. 

284 


THE  RECKONING  285 

To  begin  with,  Elizabeth  Severoid  was  only  a  part 
of  her  name.  The  rest  of  it  was  "Debenham,"  and,  in 
very  truth,  hackneyed  as  the  phrase  may  be,  she  was 
the  only  mother  Ralph  had  ever  known.  In  fact,  this 
story  really  began  when  Miss  Severoid — then  known 
as  Bessie  Debenham — was  seven  years  old — when  she 
was  passionately  fond  of  dolls  and  given  to  spending 
most  of  her  time  playing  with  other  people's  babies. 
Because  it  was  then  that  a  perfectly  new  and  wonderful 
baby  boy  was  delivered  at  the  Debenham  home  one 
truly  dark  and  stormy  night,  when  everybody  was 
asleep  or  should  have  been.  That  baby  was  Ralph 
Debenham,  and  from  that  night  onward  little  Bessie 
Debenham's  childhood  ended. 

The  death  of  her  mother  a  few  days  later  emphasized 
the  fact,  and  though  there  was  a  sort  of  housekeeper- 
nurse  in  the  Debenham  home  for  several  years  after 
that,  Ralph's  real  nurse  and  mother  was  his  sister  Bess. 
Everything  that  she  had  had  been  lavished  unstintingly 
upon  him.  Year  by  year,  her  young-old  hands  had  led 
him  through  childhood  to  boyhood — always  standing 
between  him  and  the  just  and  unjust  punishments  that 
would  have  come  his  impulsive,  tempestuous  way — 
always  giving  without  question  and  being  absurdly 
jealous  of  her  privilege  in  that  direction — watching 
him  add  years  to  his  age  and  inches  to  his  stature  with 
something  akin  to  awe,  yet  never  for  a  single  moment 
thinking  of  him  as  a  day  older  than  the  day  on  which 
she  had  taught  him  to  walk. 

So  far  an  ordinary  enough  story,  repeated  every  day 
the  world  over. 

When  Ralph  was  twelve  their  father  died,  and  be 
fore  very  long  it  was  evident  that  the  boy  was  inclined 
to  accept  the  absence  of  parental  restraint  as  a  sort  of 
road  to  freedom.  Which  served  only  to  intensify  his 
sister's  passion  for  mothering  him;  and  she  was  so 


286  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

busy  keeping  him  out  of  trouble — or  getting  him  out 
of  it  after  he  had  succeeded  in  getting  in — that  she 
had  no  time  at  all  to  think  of  anything  else. 

Following  her  natural  bent,  she  had  taken  up  teach 
ing  as  a  profession,  and,  aided  by  a  small  annuity  from 
their  father's  meagre  estate,  had  managed  to  give 
Ralph,  in  the  few  succeeding  years,  the  beginnings  of 
a  technical  education  which  he  was  rounding  out  in  a 
practical  fashion  when,  from  his  sister's  point  of  view, 
the  whole  world  became  darker  than  the  darkest  night. 

Employed  as  an  apprentice  mechanical  engineer, 
Ralph,  always  reckless  and  quick  to  anger,  lost  the 
noted  Debenham  temper,  which  he  had  inherited  from 
his  father,  and  punched  a  fellow-workman  named 
Saunders  into  some  moving  machinery,  disabling  him 
for  life. 

Saunders  had  a  wife  and  two  small  babies  to  sup 
port,  and  while  Ralph  was  spending  an  ignominious, 
torturing  year  in  prison,  his  sister  spent  an  even  more 
painful  year  outside  of  it,  trying  to  believe  that  the 
truth  was  true!  that  Ralph — her  Ralph — was  actually 
in  jail! 

That  year,  however,  gave  her  opportunity  for  more 
freedom  of  action  than  she  had  ever  had  since  the  day 
of  Ralph's  birth,  and  when  that  young  man  was  re 
leased  from  prison,  he  discovered  his  sister — who  had 
always  been  quite  clever  in  amateur  theatricals — teach 
ing  elocution  in  her  spare  time  and  conducting  a  full 
blown  school  of  dramatic  art,  simply  because  the 
Saunders  babies  had  to  eat ! 

It  is  doubtful  if  she  thought  about  the  babies'  mother 
and  father  at  all ! 

This  dramatic  phase  of  her  career  was  responsible 
for  the  "shepherdess"  McClure  had  coveted.  She  had 
been  filling  a  gap  in  the  cast  of  "As  You  Like  It"  by 


THE  RECKONING  287 

playing  Phebe,  and  liked  the  costume  well  enough  to  be 
photographed  in  it. 

Ralph  did  not  like  the  school  of  dramatic  art  idea 
very  much,  particularly  when  he  learned  of  the  nature 
of  the  necessity  that  had  given  it  birth.  Already 
marked  with  an  indelible  shame  and,  quite  convinced 
that  he  was  lost  to  society  forever,  yet  another  fire  now 
seared  his  soul;  but,  gulping  down  an  impulsive  and 
impotent  protest  against  everything  in  general,  he  de 
termined  to  get  some  work  to  do,  so  that  he  could 
give  all  his  wages  to  Saunders's  wife,  "even  if  I 
starve!"  With  which  nineteen-year-old  illogical  de 
termination  he  proceeded  to  look  for  the  hardest  thing 
in  the  world  to  find — some  one  who  would  pay  a  jail 
bird  wages  for  doing  anything. 

Nevertheless  he  found  it. 

The  fever-ridden  West  Coast  of  Africa  has  been 
kind  to  such  as  he  many  times  and,  being  in  Liverpool 
at  the  time,  he  encountered  Marsden  &  Co.  and  other 
West  Coast  firms  who  were  nearly  always  looking  for 
white  flesh  and  blood  and  bones  that  could  stand  fairly 
erect,  read,  write  and  count — at  least  to  a  hundred. 
Marsden  &  Co.  had  made  him  the  best  offer,  and  be 
fore  his  sister  knew  anything  about  it,  he  had  signed  a 
contract  and  bound  himself  to  serve  the  company  faith 
fully  and  well  for  a  period  of  two  years  for  the  sum 
of  eighty  pounds  sterling  per  annum  "all  found." 

Eighty  pounds  sounded  munificent  to  Ralph  then. 
It  was  just  eighty  pounds  more  than  any  one  else 
would  pay  him,  and  he  felt  that  if  he  paid  Saunders's 
wife  a  pound  a  week,  she  could  surely  manage  to  exist 
on  that  till  he  was  earning  more.  His  intentions  were 
truly  excellent. 

There  was,  of  course,  the  inevitable  scene  between 
his  sister  and  him;  but  the  contract  was  there,  signed, 


288  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

sealed  and  delivered ;  and  as  there  was  no  way  out,  his 
sister,  bravely  if  very  dubiously,  made  up  her  mind  to 
allow  him  to  go. 

He  sailed. 

That  the  date  happened  to  be  April  i  may  have  had 
some  significance;  but  in  any  case  every  week  for  a 
year  Marsden  &  Co.,  Liverpool,  were  authorized  to 
pay  Mrs.  Saunders,  London,  the  sum  of  one  pound, 
which  was  to  be  charged  to  the  salary  account  of  Ralph 
Debenham,  assistant  at  Segwanga.  Ralph  had  no 
knowledge  of  the  fact  that  the  money  finally  reached 
his  proud  sister's  lap,  and  was  being  saved  for  him  for 
the  proverbial  "rainy  day." 

"Miss  Severoid"  had  not  allowed  Saunders  and  his 
family  to  depend  upon  her  impulsive  brother,  but,  con 
tinuing  her  dramatic  work,  had  permanently  made  over 
one-half  of  her  annuity  to  them. 

And  then  one  African  mail-day,  she  received  a  letter 
from  Marsden  &  Co.  bearing  the  dreadful  tidings  that 
Ralph  had  completely  disappeared.  Finding  that  she 
could  get  no  satisfactory  explanation  from  the  firm  or 
from  the  Colonial  Office,  she  decided  upon  the  perilous 
and  almost  impossible  task  of  going  out  to  Segwanga 
to  institute  an  investigation  upon  her  own  account. 

Difficulties  had  confronted  her  at  every  turn — appar 
ently  insurmountable  difficulties  that  would  have 
crushed  the  spirits  of  a  less  determined  soul.  There 
were  but  two  ways  in  which  she  could  enter  Nigeria — 
either  as  an  employee  or  in  the  company  of  a  husband, 
who  would  necessarily  have  to  be  employed  there. 

And  she  was  actually  seriously  contemplating  mar 
riage  with  a  Calabar  commissioner  when  she  read  in  a 
morning  paper  an  appeal  for  lady  missionaries  to  go 
out  to  West  Africa  to  lead  the  benighted  heathen  out 
of  darkness. 

Promptly  adopting  the  name  of  Severoid,  she  made 


THE  RECKONING  289 

instant  application  for  a  place  in  Nigeria,  and  a  reply 
came  asking  her  to  call  at  the  office  of  the  secretary  of 
the  Foreign  Mission  Society  with  references,  et  cetera. 
She  could  produce  no  references  of  the  sort  the  so 
ciety's  secretary  wanted,  but  she  made  love  to  his  office- 
boy,  to  his  clerks,  to  him,  and  finally  to  the  chairman 
of  the  examining  board;  and,  with  her  heart  ready  to 
break  in  two,  flashed  the  magnetism  of  her  smile  upon 
that  distinguished  gentleman  and  drew  his  casting 
vote. 

Then  she  confided  in  him,  very,  very  quietly,  telling 
him  just  why  she  wished  to  go  to  West  Africa  and 
where ;  and  because  he  was  that  sort  of  man,  she  sailed 
for  Segwanga  with  scarcely  any  trouble  or  delay. 

The  worthy  chairman,  however,  did  not  know  that 
she  had  been  conducting  a  school  of  dramatic  art,  or 
that  her  brother  had  spent  a  year  in  jail.  She  was 
more  afraid  of  the  effect  of  the  latter  fact  than  of  the 
former,  hence  her  fear  of  detection  when  McClure  had 
told  her  that  he  knew  she  had  been  a  "shepherdess." 
As  her  dramatic  work  was  so  closely  associated  in  her 
mind  with  the  jail-term  that  had  really  been  responsible 
for  it,  she  had  been  desperately  afraid  that  McClure 
must  also  know  why  she  had  been  a  "shepherdess." 
If  he  knew,  it  did  not  seem  at  all  impossible  that  others 
might  also  know;  which  meant  that  if  the  truth  leaked 
out,  she  would  be  recalled. 

Until  she  had  met  Clavering  and  had  heard  of  his 
deeds  and  powers,  she  had  not  dared  to  hope  for  any 
thing,  but  she  felt  that  the  less  every  one  knew  about 
her  real  intentions  the  better,  because  if  Ralph  had 
come  to  any  serious  harm,  another  hue  and  cry  was 
not  likely  to  disclose  anything  more  than  the  first  one, 
particularly  in  a  country  like  the  Niger  Delta. 

Clavering's  advent,  however,  had  made  almost  any 
thing  possible,  and,  quick  to  realize  that  the  more 


290  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"mystery"  she  assumed,  the  more  interesting  she  be 
came,  she  had  deliberately  allowed  him  and  every  one 
else  to  believe  what  they  pleased,  because  the  continued 
devotion  and  curiosity  of  men  who  might  help  was 
very  necessary  to  her. 

And  now,  facing  Clavering  in  that  musty  little  hut, 
\vith  the  screeching  of  Tulami's  unclean  population 
interjecting  her  thoughts  and  fears  and  pale-gray 
hopes,  everything  she  had  done  to  achieve  her  purpose 
rose  before  her  to  emphasize  the  fact  that  the  hour  she 
had  dreaded  most  had  come. 

The  shadowy  smile  of  triumph  playing  upon  Claver- 
ing's  lips — a  smile  that  lurked  in  the  black  mystery  of 
his  eyes — was  an  ominous  quantity  that  was  difficult  to 
apprehend  or  cope  with.  Dabbing  her  eyes  and  nose 
hurriedly  with  her  ever-ready  handkerchief,  she  cast  a 
fleeting  look  in  Ralph's  direction,  then  faced  Clavering 
again  with  a  suddenness  that  was  startling. 

"He — he's  my — brother.  You — you  know  that?" 
Clavering  inclined  his  head  gravely. 
"I  guessed  it.  You  see,  he  told  me  the  story  of  why 
he  left  home  and,  of  course,  you  were  in  it.  He  said 
you  were  very  beautiful"— Clavering' s  eyes  softened 
in  keeping  with  his  tone — "and  that  you  had  been  more 
of  a  mother  to  him  than  a  sister.  So  that  it  really 
wasn't  much  of  a  trick  to  guess  who  you  were,  particu 
larly  after  I  had  learned  that,  aside  from  the  gifts 
the  gods  have  given  you,  the  real  secret  of  your  power 
over  all  of  us  was  just — motherliness." 

Miss  Severoid — and  to  avoid  confusion  of  any  sort 
we  might  as  well  continue  to  call  her  that,  just  as  every 
one  else  in  the  Delta  always  did — was  startled,  and  in 
spite  of  herself,  showed  it.  Clavering's  voice  was  too 
low — too  softly  modulated  for  comfort,  and  she  did 
not  care  for  sentiments  of  that  sort  coming  from  him. 
They  were  too  revolutionary — suggesting  that  he 


THE  RECKONING  291 

might  be  expecting  her  to  "reform"  him,  and  that  he 
might  become  correspondingly  maudlin  in  his  "attack." 

Which  would  not  be  likely  to  do  McClure  any  good ; 
and  the  knifelike  stabbings  of  conscience  did  not  allow 
her  to  forget  the  trader  for  a  moment. 

She  did  not  wish  to  forget  him.  His  fate  and  her 
own  heart's  ease  in  the  future  were  synonymous. 
Feeling  that  his  rescue  from  Daka's  hands  depended 
upon  her  alone,  she  knew  that  she  would  have  to 
screen  her  real  sensations  from  Clavering's  eyes,  and 
handle  him  with  gloves  of  the  smoothest  sort. 

Looking  toward  Ralph  again  instinctively,  afraid 
that  the  noise  outside  would  wake  him,  she  saw  that  he 
slept  quite  peacefully.  Then,  mustering  the  talents 
with  which  she  had  been  gifted,  she  faced  the  outlaw 
again. 

"Ralph  told  you  the  story  why  he  left  home?"  she 
asked  with  a  note  of  incredulity  in  her  voice. 

"He  did" — very  quietly.  "Told  me  of  his  experi 
ence  with  the  law  and  of  his  efforts  to  get  work  after 
ward.  I  tried  to  make  a  companion  of  him,  but  he 
would  have  none  of  it.  So  Cralla,  to  protect  himself, 
sold  him  to  Daka.  That  was  none  of  my  business. 
I  can't  afford  to  be  sentimental  unless  there  is  a  good 
and  sufficient  reason  for  it." 

He  looked  at  Miss  Severoid  very  pointedly,  then 
came  a  little  nearer. 

"Then — you  lied  to  me,  and  Cralla  lied,  too,  when 
he  said  that  Ralph  had  asked  to  be  sold  to  Daka?" 

Clavering  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Um — well — yes,  I  suppose  so.  Necessity,  you 
know,  is  the  mother  of  invention.  I  had  to  get  you  to 
trust  Cralla,  which  you  wouldn't  have  done  if  you  had 
known  that  he  had  sold  your  brother  into  slavery  for 
a  mess  of  pottage.  But  the  fact  is  that  he" — nodding 
toward  Ralph — "tried  to  bribe  Cralla  with  half  of  that 


292  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

five  thousand  that's  offered  for  me  to  induce  the  chief 
to  show  him  the  easiest  way  to  get  a  pot-shot  at  me. 
And  Cralla  kidnaped  him.  That's  the  whole  story — a 
matter  purely  between  the  boy  and  Cralla.  I  inter 
fered  solely  upon  your  account.  You  know  that. 
You've  known  it  from  the  beginning." 

He  looked  directly  at  her,  and  paused  while  his 
hand  went  blindly  in  search  of  his  cigarette  case. 

"Well;  what's  your  answer?" 

Miss  Severoid  smiled. 

"Is  that  a  proposal  or  just  a  plain  threat  ?" 

Clavering  tapped  a  cigarette  upon  the  case  and 
seemed  to  pay  no  attention  to  her  query. 

"I  have  done  all  I  said  I  would  do,"  he  continued 
easily  and  in  a  manner  that  did  not  indicate  his  feelings 
at  all.  "I  have  made  it  possible  for  you  to  enter  Benin 
City  and  come  away  again  with — him.  I  have  shown 
you  all  that  you  have  seen  purposely,  just  to  make  you 
understand  at  this  moment  that  you  are  both  helplessly 
in  my  hands,  to  do  with  as  I  will.  And,  knowing  that, 
I  want  you  also  to  understand  that  you  are  under  no 
compulsion  to  sacrifice  yourself  upon  the  altar  of  grati 
tude.  I  don't  want  your  gratitude.  I  want — you!" 

Miss  Severoid  was  startled ;  more  than  that,  she  was 
afraid  that  Clavering  was  using  weapons  that  were 
keener  than  compulsion  would  have  been — weapons 
that  made  her  feel  rather  small  and  mean  and  hypo 
critical. 

"I — "  She  met  the  quiet  look  he  gave  her  with  a 
sudden  effort,  and  the  knifelike  stabbing  in  her  heart 
gave  her  renewed  deliberation.  "You  mean  you  want 
me  to  stay  in  this  dreadful  country?"  she  asked  with  a 
soft  plaintiveness  that  became  her  very  well,  and  quite 
as  if  she  would  be  willing  to  stay  with  him  almost  any 
where  else. 

Clavering  lit  his  cigarette,  picked   up  two  camp- 


THE  RECKONING  293 

chairs,  and  strolled  with  them  to  the  window-hole,  so 
that  the  smoke  would  not  be  likely  to  bother  the  in 
valid.  His  manner  was  most  annoyingly  indifferent. 

"Let's  sit  over  here  and  see  the  sights.  They're 
most  unclean;  but  that  doesn't  matter.  Er — no — I 
don't  wish  to  stay  in  this  dreadful  country.  It's  too — 
oh,  well,  it's  everything  that  isn't  very  nice.  Sit  down, 
won't  you  ?" 

With  another  glance  toward  Ralph,  Miss  Severoid 
sat  down. 

She  did  not  like  Clavering's  mood  in  the  least.  It 
was  too  matter-of-fact ;  so  much  so  that  even  the  view 
through  the  window  did  not  disturb  her  at  all.  Yet  it 
was  a  brutal  picture — filthy  and  heathenish  and  nakedly 
vicious. 

"Then  where?"  she  began  haltingly. 

"Australia,  South  Africa,  Canada — no,  Canada's  too 
cold.  But  there's  lots  of  rogm  in  the  world  for  us 
three,  and  he" — nodding  toward  Ralph  again — "can't 
live  in  England  comfortably.  I  think  Sydney  would 
be  all  right,  or  Johannesburg." 

His  hand  darted  out  as  a  snake  strikes  and  closed 
over  Miss  Severoid's  with  a  sudden  pressure  that  made 
her  gasp  with  the  pain  of  it. 

"Which  is  it  to  be?" 

His  eyes  bored  into  the  back  of  her  mind  like  gim 
lets  and  put  a  clamp  upon  her  tongue,  so  that  she  could 
not  lie  or  shuffle  or  even  bring  a  smile  to  her  assistance. 
There  was  something  about  him  that  fascinated  even 
while  it  frightened  her,  and  she  simply  looked  at  him 
in  a  dull,  unhappy  sort  of  way  that  plainly  annoyed 
him. 

"Why  don't  you  answer  ?  I'm  not  compelling  you  to 
do  anything  you  do  not  wish  to  do.  I  am  not  issuing 
an  ultimatum,  though  I  think  you  expected  one,  didn't 
you  ?"  He  leaned  a  little  nearer  to  her.  "Something 


294  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

really  devilish,  like  keeping  you  in  Benin  City  unless 
you  promised  to  love,  honor,  and  obey  me  ?  That's  all 
nonsense.  You'd  die  indecently  in  this  rotten  climate 
in  less  than  no  time,  and  I'd  have  just  that  much  more 
on  my  conscience." 

He  smiled  rather  unpleasantly  as  if  he  knew  quite 
well  what  she  was  thinking  about  his  conscience. 
Miss  Severoid,  who  was  not  at  all  accustomed  to  the 
sensation,  sat  quite  still,  hardly  daring  to  breath,  and 
feeling  that  he  was  taking  an  unfair  advantage  of  her 
by  being  so  astoundingly  magnanimous  about  every 
thing. 

"I've  said  you  can  go  back  to  England  if  you  care 
to,"  he  went  on  quietly,  and  though  the  pressure  of  his 
fingers  relaxed  a  little,  there  was  a  glow  in  his  eyes 
that  might  portend  anything.  "And  I've  protected 
you — taking  care  that  there  is  nothing  for  which  the 
government  will  be  likely  to  hold  you  responsible  when 
you  go  down-river.  You  have  nothing  to  fear,  and  I 
sha'n't  go  with  you  if  you  don't  wish  me  to.  I'm 
simply  giving  up  all  this  because  I'm  tired  of  it — tired 
of  the  power  and  the  pleasure  and  the  greasy,  naked 
devilishness  of  it.  You've  shown  me  the  way,  that's 
all." 

Miss  Severoid  laughed — a  stupid,  hysterical  little 
sound  that  surprised  herself  more  than  it  did  Clavering. 

She  did  not  know  why  she  had  laughed.  Every 
thing  was  confused,  and  she  felt  very  cold  and  hope 
lessly  alone.  Had  she  not  laughed,  she  would  have 
screamed. 

"You — you're  giving  this  all  up!"  Her  voice  was 
as  dead  as  the  look  upon  her  face.  She  spoke  just  for 
the  sake  of  saying  something — with  a  misty  vision  of 
Clavering  trailing  her  like  Nemesis  along  Bond  Street. 

And  Clavering  seemed  to  guess  exactly  what  she 
thought. 


THE  RECKONING  295 

He  threw  his  half-finished  cigarette  out  of  the  win 
dow  with  a  gesture  of  impatience,  then  leaning  toward 
her  suddenly,  his  voice  changed  a  little  and  became 
thinner. 

"I  suppose  if  I  were  to  tell  you  that  you've  won,  not 
because  you  were  clever,  but  because  the  motherliness 
that's  in  you  awakened  me  to  the  fact  that  I  have  a 
soul,  you'd  laugh  at  me?  Oh,  yes!  I  have  a  soul! 
Pretty  ragged,  perhaps,  yet  a  soul — and  I  love  you,  too. 
You  don't  believe  that  either,  do  you?  You  think  I 
am  hopelessly  rotten  at  the  core.  But  that's  because 
you  don't  know  what  this  country  can  do  to  a  man. 

"It  feeds  upon  his  mind  and  tunes  his  nerves  to 
screeching  point — makes  Simon  Legrees  out  of  raw 
youngsters  and  hell-fiends  out  of  grown  men.  And 
then  they  go  home  to  paved  streets  and  a  white  wife, 
and  wonder  how  they  ever  did  the  things  they  think 
nothing  of  doing  out  here;  ugly  things  that  would 
sicken  you  just  to  hear  of  them.  And  a  year  in  civili 
zation — with  you — would  make  me  as  respectable  as  a 
bank-clerk." 

He  laughed,  but  the  sound  had  a  squeaky,  hysterical 
note  in  it. 

"Why  do  you  look  at  me  like  that?  Think  it  rather 
funny  that  I  should  want  to  be  decent  ?" 

He  released  her  hand  as  suddenly  as  he  had  seized  it, 
and  rising  abruptly,  stood  over  her  like  a  threat,  his 
eyes  glowing  out  of  their  pale  setting  like  smoldering 
coal. 

She  did  not  move  or  speak ;  could  not.  A  numbing 
hopelessness  held  her  as  in  a  trance,  staring  up  at  him 
rather  stupidly. 

There  was  a  certain  desperation  in  his  manner,  too, 
that  she  could  not  understand.  An  ashen  gray  pallor 
was  spreading  slowly  over  his  cheeks.  When  he 
turned  abruptly  and  strode  toward  the  door  she  did 


296  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

not  know  that  it  was  because  every  nerve  and  sinew  in 
his  passion-racked  body  was  drawn  tight  as  a  violin 
string — that  he  knew  that  if  he  stood  there,  looking 
down  into  the  wondering  blue  of  her  eyes  and  upon 
the  tempting  red  of  her  parted  lips,  something  would 
surely  snap  and  he  would  not  be  responsible  for  what 
happened — afterward. 

But  Miss  Severoid  did  not  know  that.  She  did 
not  know  that  most  of  his  sang  froid  was  a  pose ;  nor 
had  she  any  knowledge  of  the  form  his  relaxation  took 
when  the  man — or  the  devil — beneath  showed  through 
the  veneer  with  which  she  had  become  acquainted. 

Her  glance  followed  him  in  bewilderment.  Things 
had  all  gone  wrong.  She  had  expected  passion  and 
threats,  and  perhaps  a  little  boisterous  love-making; 
an  attitude  she  could  meet  and  play  with — for  Mc- 
Clure's  sake.  Instead,  there  was  an  unapproachable 
calm — a  simple  offer  of  marriage  and  a  simpler  inti 
mation  that  she  do  just  as  she  pleased  about  it.  He 
was  going  to  give  up  his  lawless  life,  anyway. 

All  of  which  tacitly  intimated  that  McClure  was  to 
be  left  to  the  mercy  of  Daka  and  that  there  was  no  need 
to  say  any  more  upon  that  matter.  The  trader  was 
out  of  it — ended — done  for! 

Her  breath  caught  sharply.  Glancing  fearfully  to 
ward  Ralph  again,  then  out  to  where  Plymouth  sat 
among  the  Jackrie  carriers,  lazily  smoking  his  pipe,  she 
rose  softly  and  tiptoed  to  Clavering's  side,  desperate 
and  determined,  yet  with  an  expression  of  childlike 
simplicity  upon  her  face  that  would  have  melted  the 
heart  of  the  Sphinx,  if  she  had  one. 

But  the  tips  of  her  fingers  had  barely  touched  Clav 
ering's  arm  when  he  spun  round  sharply  and  with  such 
a  sudden  flash  of  fire  in  his  eyes  that  she  drew  quickly 
away  from  him  with  a  little  gasp  of  surprise  and  fear. 

"Don't !"     His  voice  was  strangely  thick  and  hoarse, 


THE  RECKONING  297 

and  there  was  a  strange  whine  of  pleading  in  it  she  had 
never  heard  before.  "Go  back!  Great  God,  can't 
you  see  ?  Can't  you — " 

Yes,  she  could  see  now,  and  wondered  why  she  had 
not  seen  that  madness  in  his  face  before.  His  cheeks 
were  the  color  of  parchment,  and,  with  his  lips  drawn 
back  from  his  teeth,  he  closely  and  hideously  resembled 
a  grinning  death's  head. 

She  shrank  from  him  involuntarily;  and  when  he 
took  two  rapid  strides  toward  her,  her  knees  shook  and 
her  mouth  opened  as  though  she  would  scream. 

But  no  sound  came. 

He  stopped  short  as  if  the  possibility  of  her  scream 
ing  frightened  him  a  little.  Then  he  looked  at  her  for 
a  few  moments — smiling — a  terrible  smile  that  made 
an  icy  chill  race  down  her  spine. 

"You've  kissed  me,  lied  to  me,  and  played  with  me !" 
The  words  came  thickly  through  a  gathering  in  his 
throat.  "I've  just  been  useful — a  mere  necessary  pup 
pet  in  your  little  game  of  life.  And  now  that  you've 
won,  I'm  simply  a  person  with  an  ugly  reputation,  unfit 
to  mingle  with  you  in  decent  society. 

"Why  don't  you  speak?"  His  voice  rose  an  octave 
or  two.  "Why  don't  you  tell  the  truth  ?  It's  nothing 
new  to  me.  I've  seen  it  in  your  eyes  from  the  begin 
ning.  Those  eyes  of  yours  have  haunted  me  since  the 
first  time  I  saw  them.  They've  looked  through  and 
through  me — measured  me  for  what  I  am — seen  the 
blackness  and  hell  inside  of  me — used  me  and  laughed 
at  me — called  me  a  fool — sneered  at  me  and  loathed 
me  when  my  back's  been  turned ! 

"My  mother  had  eyes  like  those — angel's  eyes  in  a 
she-wolf's  head — and  she — " 

He  stopped,  and,  his  mouth  twisting  hideously, 
teeth  gritting,  his  whole  face  became  suddenly  dis 
torted  in  demoniacal  fury. 


298  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"Damn  them !     I'll—" 

His  voice  screeched  and  cracked,  and  his  right  arm 
rose  with  startling  swiftness  as  if  to  strike  the  steady 
blue  of  Miss  Severoid's  eyes  from  his  sight. 

A  harsh  scream  came  from  Ralph's  corner. 

Clavering's  head  jerked  upward  as  though  the  sound 
had  been  an  upper-cut,  and  his  descending  arm  halted 
foolishly  in  mid  air.  His  was  the  face  of  a  man  who 
has  awakened  from  a  ghastly  dream,  and  the  white 
heat  of  his  passion  went  out  like  a  snuffed  candle. 

Miss  Severoid  also  heard  her  brother's  cry,  and  it 
took  the  deadly  numbness  out  of  her  limbs  instantly. 
Staggering  back  a  step  or  two,  she  faced  about  and 
through  the  blur  before  her  eyes  saw  Ralph  staring 
wildly  at  them,  doing  his  best  to  raise  himself  from  the 
pillows. 

"Don't,  boy!  It—it's  all  right.  It's— nothing— at 
all!" 

She  sank  down  beside  him,  murmuring  soothing 
words  and  smiling  through  her  tears  and  her  terror; 
and  when  she  had  pacified  him  a  little  and  dared  look 
around  again,  Ilora  was  bringing  in  hot  water  and 
Clavering  had  gone. 

Ilora  did  not  look  as  if  she  was  disappointed  about 
anything. 

But  she  was. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE    WAGER 

CURIOUSLY  enough,  previous  to  his  Satanic  outburst 
of  passion,  Miss  Severoid  had  not  been  in  the  least 
afraid  of  Clavering  in  a  physical  sense.  She  had  be 
lieved  that  her  influence  over  him  was  strong  enough 
to  keep  him  within  the  bounds  of  decency. 

But  after  that  flash  of  fiendishness  to  which  he  had 
treated  her,  her  attitude  toward  him  underwent  a 
change  that  was  almost  a  revolution.  Though  she  felt 
sure  that  his  next  mood  would  be  an  apologetic  one, 
she  doubted  whether,  by  the  simple  persuasion  of  her 
eyes  and  lips  and  voice  she  could  induce  him  to  effect 
McClure's  release  from  Benin  City. 

Which,  apart  from  getting  Ralph  to  sleep  again,  was 
her  sole  object  in  life  just  then. 

Consequently,  breakfast  was  a  mockery;  one  mo 
ment  dull  and  leaden  in  despair,  the  next  quivering  in 
anticipation  of  Covering's  return.  The  very  thought 
of  his  coming  back  made  her  tremble ;  but  the  thought 
that  he  might  not  come  back  at  all  made  her  cold. 

She  needed  him,  yet  was  afraid  to  make  him  useful ; 
feared  him,  yet  shivered  to  think  of  what  her  plight 
would  be  without  him. 

She  was  thankful,  however,  for  the  mercy  that 
Ralph  went  to  sleep  again  without  asking  too  many 
questions.  He  was  too  weak  for  that,  and  as  the 
noise  of  the  early  morning  hours  died  down  very  per 
ceptibly,  she  was  thankful  for  that,  too.  It  was  as  if 

299 


300  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

the  village,  barbarous  as  it  was,  had  realized  that  it 
had  an  invalid  on  its  hands  and  was  acting  accordingly. 

The  boy  moaned  every  now  and  then,  and  his  sister 
watched  over  him,  tight-lipped  and  dry  of  eye,  with 
a  pained  but  thoughtful  expression  upon  her  face  as 
she  desperately  tried  to  think  of  something  that  might 
make  McClure's  release  from  Daka's  clutches  interest 
ing  to  Clavering. 

Which  was  a  problem  in  psychology  equal  to  the 
"Asses'  Bridge." 

Just  a  few  minutes  before  Clavering  came  in  again, 
she  found  something ;  a  desperate  chance  that  made  her 
shiver  to  think  of  it. 

Clavering's  entrance  was  very  quiet,  his  face  passive 
and  his  manner  not  in  the  least  apologetic.  One  would 
never  have  believed  that  he  and  the  man  of  an  hour 
before  were  the  same.  In  fact,  the  difference  was  so 
great  that  a  physician  would  probably  have  asked  him 
the  name  of  the  opiate  he  used. 

And  Clavering  could  have  told  him,  too. 

Miss  Severoid  observed  the  change  in  him  at  once, 
and  drew  a  deep  and  silent  breath  of  relief  that  ex 
tended  to  the  very  soles  of  her  shoes.  But  as  his 
attitude  seemed  to  consider  the  incident  of  his  tem 
porary  madness  closed,  and  that  there  was  nothing 
more  to  be  said  about  it,  that  did  not  suit  her  purpose 
in  the  least. 

Ilora  shuffled  out  the  moment  he  came  in,  and  Miss 
Severoid,  who  was  kneeling  by  Ralph's  side,  looked  up 
and  asked  casually. 

"Apologies — I  suppose?" 

Clavering  rubbed  his  perspiring  hands  on  his  hand 
kerchief,  coolly  and  carefully. 

"No.  I'm  sorry  if  I  frightened  you — but  not  for 
anything  I  said.  I  have  nothing  to  retract." 

"I  see.     But  the  next  time  you  want  to  display  your 


THE  WAGER  301 

villainous  temper,  don't  do  it  so  loudly.  Not  that  I 
am  in  the  least  afraid  of  you  or  of  the  noise  you  make. 
But  you  wakened  the  boy." 

Clavering  bit  his  nether  lip.  He  felt  as  a  fighter 
feels  when,  carefully  guarding  his  face,  he  is  hit  in  the 
stomach. 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry.  But  these  beasts  outside  are  a  little 
quieter,  are  they  not?  I  tried  to  make  them  so." 

"Thank  you,"  rising  slowly  and  facing  him  again. 
"I've  noticed  they  were  not  screaming  so  much.  What 
did  you  expect  me  to  do  the  last  time  you  were  in 
here?  Throw  myself  at  your  feet  and  sob  all  over 
your  shoe-laces?" 

She  went  nearer  to  him — smiling. 

"Don't  be  stupid.  And  please  don't  swear  at  my 
eyes  again.  I  don't  like  that  very  much.  Besides, 
when  you  lose  your  temper  like  thai,  you  become  quite 
fiendish,  and  you  don't  look  a  bit  pretty.  The  next 
time  you  feel  that  way  have  a  mirror  handy.  That 
should  cure  you." 

Clavering  had  no  defense. '  At  least  he  offered  none. 
His  expression  was  trying  to  be  tolerant  and  indiffer 
ent,  so  Miss  Severoid  hurried  on  before  it  became  too 
much  so. 

"Neither  did  I  like  the  terribly  respectable  way  you 
spoke  about  Sydney  and  Johannesburg.  That  was — 
oh !  I  don't  know  what  to  think  about  it.  But  it  wasn't 
you.  I  expected  you  to  treat  me  to  something  really 
desperate — to  carry  me  off  to  Timbuctu  or  some  such 
place  and — and  you  want  to  be  as  respectable  as  a 
bank  clerk!" 

Her  smile  became  a  low,  mirthful  laugh  that  stung. 
Clavering  winced  and  his  eyes  began  to  burn  again. 

"That  is  the  sort  of  proposal  I  might  expect  from 
Mr.  McClure,"  Miss  Severoid  went  on  tantalizingly. 
"Staid,  orthodox,  every-day  love-making. 


302  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

"But,  by  the  way,  what  has  become  of  Mr.  McClure? 
I've  been  so  worried  about  the  boy — and  your  ideas  of 
reform — that  I  haven't  had  a  chance  to  ask.  Ilora 
brought  me  his  revolver  and  told  me  a  silly  story  about 
him  being  left  behind  in  Benin  City.  But  you 
wouldn't  allow  that,  would  you?' 

She  was  very  near  to  Clavering  then,  looking  half 
seriously,  half  jokingly  up  into  his  face ;  and  he  could 
not  meet  her  eye-to-eye.  The  world  without  drifted 
farther  and  farther  away. 

"She  brought  you  his  revolver?"  Covering's  voice 
was  low  and  a  little  hoarse.  "What  did  she  say — 
when  she  brought  it?" 

Miss  Severoid  told  him  very  simply  what  Ilora  had 
said,  and,  taking  hold  of  the  third  button  of  his  coat 
in  the  naive  way  she  had,  trifled  with  it  absently  as 
she  spoke. 

"She  brought  me  the  revolver  because  she  thought 
I  liked  Mr.  McClure.  Wasn't  that  queer?" 

And  Clavering  smiled  in  spite  of  himself.  Ilora's 
cleverness  in  diverting  suspicion  from  herself  appealed 
to  him. 

But  he  did  not  know  how  altogether  clever  she  had 
been ;  nor  did  he  know  that  she  was  standing  just  out 
side  the  door,  gathering  a  fair  understanding  of  all 
that  was  said. 

"Why  are  you  smiling?"  Miss  Severoid  asked 
quickly.  "Because  the  girl  thought  I  liked  Mr.  Mc 
Clure  ?  It  may  be  queer  that  she  should  have  thought 
so,  but  there  isn't  anything  very  funny  in  it,  is  there? 
I  do  like  him,  partly  because  he  is  one  of  the  few  men 
who  isn't  afraid  of  you.  He  laughs  at  you,  in  fact. 
He's  said  time  and  again  that  he'd  shoot  y< 
sight,  and  .once,  when  I  asked  him  if  he  wasn't  afraid 
you'd  shoot  first,  he  laughed  and  told  me  it  would  be 
rather  interesting  to  know  whether  you  were  quicker 


THE  WAGER  303 

at  that  sort  of  thing  than  he  was.     Do  you  think  you 
are?" 

Her  lips  were  teasing  him,  even  as  her  eyes  and 
voice  challenged,  and  the  quick  response  that  came 
into  Clavering's  face  was  surprising. 

But  in  subtly  creating  the  question  Miss  Severoid 
did  not  know  of  a  previous  contest  that  had  taken 
place  behind  Marsden  &  Co.'s  powder  store;  an  inci 
dent  Clavering  was  not  likely  to  forget  as  long  as  he 
lived.  And  though  he  was  quite  sure  that  Daka  would 
take  ample  revenge  for  him,  the  satisfaction  would  not 
be  nearly  so  keen  as  if  he  squared  accounts  himself. 

"He  said  that,  did  he?"  Clavering's  tone  was 
thoughtful,  and  even  as  his  hands  came  out  and  closed 
about  Miss  Severoid' s  arms,  there  was  nothing  boister 
ous  in  his  action.  His  mind  was  following  the  trail 
of  a  new  possibility. 

"And  what  do  you  think?" 

Miss  Severoid  pouted  deliciously  and  made  no  at 
tempt  to  gain  release ;  not  even  though  Ralph  moaned 
again  and  threatened  to  awake. 

"Um — well — I'm  not  sure,"  she  said  doubtfully. 
"But  I  told  Mr.  McClure  that  if  the  chance  ever  came 
for  a  test,  you  wouldn't  be  afraid  of  it.  Was  I  right  ? 
Would  you  be  afraid  to — to  go  out  into  the  bush  there 
with  him  and  stalk  each  other  until — well — I've  read 
of  men  doing  that?" 

Clavering  searched  her  face  as  with  a  microscope, 
and  there  was  an  eagerness  in  his  own  that  was  difficult 
for  Miss  Severoid  to  understand.  He  did  not  speak, 
and  the  seconds  were  each  a  thousand  silent  years  to 
his  tempter,  who  was  playing  a  very  desperate  chance 
for  all  it  was  worth. 

"Wh — why  don't  you  answer  me?"  she  asked  at 
last  impatiently.  "I — I — gracious!  You — you  are 
afraid!" 


304  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

She  drew  out  of  the  grip  of  his  hands  very  slowly 
and  though  there  wasn't  a  sign  of  fear  in  the  outlaw's 
face,  her  eyes  grew  wide  in  astonishment. 

"I — I — why!  I  thought  a  man  like  you  would  be 
a  real  gambler — a  man  who  constantly  took  chances 
like  that!" 

Clavering's  smile  of  derision  wasn't  very  healthy, 
but  he  was  not  thinking  of  McClure  at  all.  Only  of 
what  Daka  would  have  to  say — afterward;  and  he 
wanted  to  be  sure  that  it  would  not  matter  to  him  what 
Daka  said  or  thought  or  did. 

"Why  should  I  gamble  again,  when  I've  won?"  he 
asked  quietly. 

"Won  what?" 

"The  right  to  take  you  or  let  you  go." 

Miss  Severoid's  eyes  flashed  suddenly  and  she  drew 
away  a  few  paces  more — laughing  at  him. 

The  sound  was  not  a  pleasant  one.  There  was  no 
mirth  in  it,  and  she  seemed  to  be  having  difficulty  in 
getting  her  breath. 

"You — win!  You — you  didn't  win  anything. 
Daka  and  all  those  other  beasts  won  it  for  you.  You 
wouldn't  meet  McClure  face  to  face  and  tell  him  what 
you  have  told  me  now.  He — he'd  kill  you !  And  you 
know  it,  too.  That  was  why  you  got  those  creatures 
of  yours  to — to — " 

She  shuddered,  and  the  thought  of  what  might  have 
happened  to  McClure  seemed  to  fill  her  throat. 

"\Yh — what  have  you  done  to  him?  Where  is  he? 
Do  you  think  I  could  ever  get  any  pleasure  out  of  my 
brother's  life  if  I  thought  McClure  had  been  stabbed  in 
the  back — in  the  dark?  And — and  you  come  to  me 
after — after  a  thing  like  that  and  say  that  you  have  a 
right  to  take  me  or  let  me  go  just — just  because  you've 
put  him  out  of  the  way!  You — you're  a  coward! 
Just  a  cowardly  beast  who — " 


THE  WAGER  305 

"Stop!" 

The  word  was  like  a  pistol  shot,  and  Clavering  was 
standing  over  her,  not  threateningly,  but  quietly;  the 
quiet  of  a  man  who  has  reached  a  decision. 

"That  will  do.  And  let's  drop  these  subterfuges 
once  and  for  all  and  understand  each  other. 

"You're  my  woman — mine !  And  you've  been  mine 
since  that  first  time  I  held  you  in  my  arms  and  you 
made  me  a  present  of  my  life.  I  told  you  then  that 
the  word  good-by  had  no  place  between  you  and  me, 
and  it  sha'n't  have.  Do  you  understand  me?" 

Miss  Severoid  was  not  at  all  sure.  She  felt  very 
cold  and  her  cheeks  were  chalky  white;  and  she 
thought,  for  a  moment  or  two,  that  she  was  going  to 
sink  to  the  floor  at  Clavering's  feet.  Then  the  dizzi 
ness  passed,  but  when  Ralph  moaned  restlessly  she 
scarcely  heard  him.  Tulami  had  ceased  to  exist. 

"You — you  don't  deny  that  you  betrayed  McClure 
to  Daka!"  she  gasped  desperately.  "And  yet  you  ex 
pect  me  to — to  go  away  with  you  as  if — as  if — " 

Her  hand  went  out  as  though  to  ward  him  off,  and 
her  voice  trailed  away  to  a  hoarse,  tense  whisper. 

"You — you're  not  a  white  man!  You've  lived 
among  these — these  animals  so  long  that  you — that 
you — oh !  you  must  be  mafl!" 

"No,  hardly  that — yet,"  Clavering  returned  easily, 
speaking  in  a  strangely  quiet  voice  that  did  not  fit  his 
attitude  or  the  things  he  said.  "I  love  you,  that's  all 
— and  my  answer  is  that  you  are  hoping  I  will  save 
McClure  and  bring  him  back  to  you!"  He  smiled — 
an  effort  that  mocked  her  hopes  and  laid  them  bare. 
"And  I  hate  your  sandy-haired  friend.  When  Cralla 
struck  him  across  the  eyes  with  his  hippo-hide,  I  was 
glad,  not  because  of  his  pain,  but  because  he  could  not 
see  you!"  A  pause.  There  was  just  the  faintest  hint 
of  savagery  in  his  smile  now.  "Once  upon  a  time  I 


306  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

would  have  laughed  at  the  man  who  could  possibly 
think  as  much  of  any  woman  as  to  really  enjoy  a 
rival's  blindness,  and,  before  you  came,  I  used  to  have 
an  honest  admiration  for  McClure.  In  cold  blood  I 
suppose  I  admire  him  even  more  now  than  I  ever  did, 
but  I  also  hate  him  most  damnably — simply  because 
he  stands  between  you  and  me — because  I  know  that 
he  will  always  stand  there  whether  he  lives  or  dies !" 

Miss  Severoid  looked  away  from  him  in  a  bewilder 
ment  that  made  speech  impossible  for  a  little  while. 
And  her  whole  attitude  changed.  It  had  to.  She  was 
not  acting  now. 

"And — and  you  betrayed  him  to  Daka  for  that! 
Wouldn't  give  him  even  a  fighting  chance  for  his  life 
because  you — because  you  thought  that  I — that  I — " 
she  balked  at  the  truth  and  went  around  it  quickly — 
desperately.  "Why  don't  you  give  him  a  chance?  A 
white  man's  chance  to  fight  you  like  a  white  man? 
Not  that  I  like  to  think  of  sending  two  men  at  each 
other's  throats  like  dogs,  but  it  seems  to  be  the  only 
thing  you  can  understand. 

"Take  him  out  of  the  hands  of  that  scum — meet 
him  face  to  face  and  tell  him  the  things  you  have  told 
me,  and — and  I — I'll  go  with  you — anywhere!" 

The  last  of  it  was  only  a  breath,  as  if  she  were  afraid 
he  might  hear  the  sudden  offer  she  made  and  would 
accept  it.  But  there  was  nothing  in  her  eyes  that  told 
of  the  shrinking  horror  she  felt  at  the  very  thought  of 
being  called  upon  to  make  the  sacrifice.  They  met 
Clavering's  so  steadily  that  his  glance  shifted  and 
strayed  guiltily  to  where  Ralph  lay  moaning  and 
threatening  at  any  moment  to  awake. 

The  outlaw's  mouth  tightened. 

"And  if  I  gave  him  that  chance — met  him  face  to 
face  and  killed  him — you'd  hate  me  more  than  you  do 
now,"  he  said  in  a  wonderfully  steady  voice.  "I'd 


THE  WAGER  307 

have  to  kill  him,  too — not  because  I  hate  him,  but  be 
cause  he'd  surely  kill  me  if  I  didn't.  And  you  know 
you'd  never  go  with  me  because  you  wanted  to.  You'd 
hate  me  and  you'd  fight  like  a  she- wolf  every  step  we 
took.  And  you'd  do  for  me  at  the  finish.  You  know 
that,  don't  you  ?" 

"Not  if  you  gave  him  a  fair  chance,"  came  the  sur 
prisingly  clear  and  steady  answer.  "I'd  rather  stay 
here  with  an  outlaw  who  was  a  white  man,  than  go  to 
Sydney  or  anywhere  else  with  a  treacherous  beast  who 
was  half  black." 

The  faintest  tinge  of  color  crept  over  Clavering's 
cheek-bones,  as  if  she  had  found  a  spot  that  hurt.  He 
looked  out  of  the  window  hurriedly  as  though  he 
feared  some  one  might  have  overheard  what  she  said 
and  understood  it. 

"You'll  give  him  that  chance,  won't  you?"  Miss  Sev- 
eroid  pleaded,  and  her  voice  was  much  softer  than  it 
had  been.  "A  fair  chance  to  die,  as  you  would  want 
to  die  if  you  were  in  his  place.  He'd  give  you  the 
chance  if  your  positions  were  reversed.  If  you  know 
the  man  at  all,  you  know  he  would  do  that." 

And  Clavering  winced.  Again,  quite  unconsciously, 
she  had  found  a  sore  spot,  because  the  outlaw  was 
never  likely  to  forget  the  fair  chance  McClure  had 
given  him — behind  Marsden  &  Co.'s  powder  store. 

Then  suddenly,  with  a  gesture  of  impatience,  he 
turned  and,  ere  she  could  move,  he  had  swept  her  into 
his  arms,  crushing  her  to  him  fiercely,  proving  to  her 
how  utterly  powerless  she  was. 

But  she  did  not  struggle.  For  a  second  or  two  she 
was  frightened,  and  then  she  met  his  burning,  black 
eyes  in  a  manner  that  was  just  a  little  discomfiting — 
just  as  Maybrick  had  found  it. 

"Ever  since  I  first  saw  you  in  the  Violet's  cabin," 
Clavering  said  in  a  low  voice,  "since  you  first  looked 


3o8  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

up  at  me  and  laughed  and  were  not  afraid,  I  knew  that 
this  sort  of  life  must  end.  And  it's  ended.  You  speak 
of  giving  McClure  a  chance.  Why  not  give  me  one  ? 
I  am—" 

"I'll  give  you  a  chance  if  you'll  give  him  one,"  Miss 
Severoid  interrupted  quickly,  and  hoped  Ralph  was  not 
awake.  "I  said  I  would,  and  I  mean  it.  I — I'd  try 
to — to  love  you,  too,  if  you'd — if  you'd  show  me  that 
you  can  fight  a  white  man's  fight — fairly — and  not  like 
a  Jackrie — in  the  dark." 

The  pressure  of  Clavering's  arms  relaxed  a  little, 
but  his  eyes  were  doing  their  best  to  search  to  the  roots 
of  her  sincerity.  The  spot  of  color  over  his  cheek 
bones  came  back  again. 

"And  if  I— killed  him?" 

And  Miss  Severoid's  mind,  in  spite  of  that  ugly 
threat,  took  a  sudden  and  fantastic  twist,  so  that  she 
smiled  teasingly  up  at  him  as  though  she  were  herself 
again.  "I — I'll  bet  you — myself — that  you  don't!" 

"You  mean  you'd — " 

He  stopped  and  his  arms  fell  slowly  to  his  sides. 
His  expression  was  that  of  a  man  who  has  been  at 
tacked  from  an  unexpected  quarter.  He  seemed  to 
consider  in  a  queer,  apologetic  sort  of  way  that  Miss 
Severoid  was  taking  an  unfair  advantage  of  him. 

"You  mean  you'll  wager  with  me,  with  yourself  as 
the  stake,  that  I  can't — " 

"Exactly." 

That  measured  word  gave  no  indication  of  the  surg 
ing  leap  of  hope  Miss  Severoid's  heart  took  as  she  saw 
Clavering's  face  light  up  with  a  new  and  fervid  en 
thusiasm;  the  eager  light  that  comes  into  the  eyes  of 
the  man  to  whom  gambling  is  second  nature. 

"And  I'd  pay  the  bet,  too." 

"Done!" 

The  word,  so  high  pitched  that  it  squeaked,  was  fol- 


THE  WAGER  309 

lowed  by  a  minute  of  deep,  deep  silence.  In  it  they 
shook  hands  solemnly  upon  the  wager  and  looked  into 
each  other's  soul  for  the  sign  that  they  would  both 
play  fair. 

And  though  Clavering  learned  more  clearly  in  that 
eloquent  pause  why  Miss  Severoid  had  made  the  wager, 
he  said  nothing  nor  gave  any  sign  that  he  knew. 

Some  time  later  Miss  Severoid  watched  him  make 
his  way  out  of  the  village,  followed  by  Cralla's  head 
man,  who  carried  a  black,  tarpaulin-covered  carrier's 
pack ;  and  also  by  Ilora.  He  apologized  for  having  to 
take  her  with  him. 

Miss  Severoid  had  no  misgivings  upon  the  question 
of  fair  play,  nor  any  fear  because  she  was  being  left 
alone  under  the  guardianship  of  the  greasy,  decrepit 
chief  of  the  village  and  of  the  squat  and  ugly  Plym 
outh.  Nor  did  she  bother  about  where  Cralla  had 
gone,  nor  about  her  own  future,  nor  the  fact  that  she 
had  not  slept  for  forty-eight  hours. 

Instead,  her  throbbing  heart  was  whispering  ex 
ultantly  : 

"He  has  a  chance!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

A   THREAT   AND   A    PROMISE 

McCLURE  came  to  himself  with  an  insistent  desire 
to  kill.  Yaka  juice  has  that  effect,  if  the  dose  is  strong 
enough  and  an  incentive  is  not  wanting. 

For  fifteen  minutes  he  tugged  and  strained  at  the 
hide  thongs  that  bound  him,  his  gray  eyes  screeching 
murder  and  his  mouth  contorting  itself  in  a  manner 
that  was  most  unpleasant  to  see.  Then  he  subsided, 
thoroughly  exhausted,  to  lie  gasping  for  breath  amid 
a  stench  that  sickened  and  threatened  to  suffocate  him. 

After  a  while  he  learned  that  he  was  quite  alone 
upon  the  floor  of  a  very  filthy  little  round  hut,  and 
that  a  large,  pockmarked  Beni  was  choking  the  door 
way  to  the  exclusion  of  the  air.  The  Beni  was  grin 
ning  at  him  and  jabbering  to  himself.  Then,  having 
come  to  some  sort  of  conclusion  upon  the  matter,  jab 
bered  a  little  more  and  departed. 

Judging  by  the  light,  McClure  guessed  the  time  to  be 
about  three  in  the  afternoon.  Savagely  discordant 
sounds  came  to  his  ears;  the  shrill  cries  of  children 
and  the  staccato  yelling  of  older  people  who  were 
indulging  in  mild  conversation  with  all  the  vocal  energy 
of  street  venders. 

Whines  and  moans  and  laughter  were  strangely 
intermingled,  but  all  that  was  only  incidental  to  the 
nauseous  odors  that  outraged  the  atmosphere. 

In  a  few  minutes,  however,  McClure's  mind  rose 
above  these  things  and  he  began  to  think.  This,  of 

310 


A  THREAT  AND  A  PROMISE         311 

course,  made  him  strain  and  tug  at  the  tough  hide  strips 
again,  so  that  they  cut  into  his  flesh  like  knives.  And 
equally,  of  course,  his  struggles  were  of  no  earthly 
avail. 

Breathing  heavily  and  deeply,  he  lay  quite  still  for 
another  space,  staring  at  the  dun  brown  ceiling  and — 
thinking.  Men  have  gone  mad  doing  that,  and  they 
were  not  trussed  like  a  smoked  ham  in  the  city  of 
Benin  either. 

McClure  knew  exactly  where  he  was  and  what  was 
likely  to  happen  to  him.  He  needed  no  information 
on  that  score.  Somehow  it  was  not  much  consolation 
to  feel  that  he  could  at  least  show  "these  beasts"  how 
to  die  like  a  gentleman ;  partly  because  the  Benis  would 
not  be  impressed  by  the  performance,  and  greatly  be 
cause  one  can't  look  very  dignified  minus  one's  ears 
and  eyes. 

The  trader  still  had  those,  but  he  was  quite  sure  he 
would  lose  them — hours,  perhaps  days,  before  his  body 
would  give  up  the  struggle  to  live. 

He  had  no  very  definite  ideas  upon  the  question  of 
Cralla's  treachery,  and  did  not  bother  with  that  angle 
of  the  matter,  so  far  as  he  himself  was  concerned. 
But  he  did  think  of  what  might  have  happened  to  Miss 
Severoid — and  again  became  temporarily  insane  till 
exhaustion  and  the  lacerating  thongs  once  more  taught 
him  the  impotence  of  his  furious  efforts  to  be  free. 

Two  deep  blue  eyes  came  to  torture  and  then  to 
soothe  him.  Feeling  again  the  hasty  brushing  of  her 
lips  upon  his  thumb,  he  smiled  in  a  manner  that  would 
have  been  sickly  had  the  circumstances  not  made  it 
magnificent. 

The  screeching  riot  of  sound  without  lessened  con 
siderably,  and  as  McClure  was  trying  to  guess  what  it 
might  portend,  a  large,  fat  hulk  of  black  humanity 
waddled  into  the  doorway. 


3i2  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

The  trader  knew  at  once  that  it  was  Daka.  Instead 
of  being  disturbed  by  the  greasy,  rotund  majesty  of 
that  chief  of  chiefs,  he  took  the  opportunity  to  have 
a  good  look  at  him  and  quickly  saw  that  he  had  not 
been  above  copying  the  majority  of  Cralla's  sartorial 
effects,  while  he  had  added  others  of  his  own — rings 
that  blazed  upon  his  fingers  like  headlights  and  glitter 
ing  beads  and  red  coral  charms  that  hung  about  his 
neck  with  such  prodigality  that  they  might  have  been 
for  sale. 

His  bulk  filled  the  doorway  so  that  McClure  could 
see  very  little  of  what  was  going  on  behind  him.  In 
fact,  after  the  first  few  moments  he  saw  only  the  beady 
black  eyes  of  the  chief  fastened  upon  him  with  all  the 
banefulness  of  a  snake  hypnotizing  its  prey. 

Daka  did  not  speak ;  just  looked  long  and  gloatingly 
at  the  truly  splendid  bargain  he  had  made. 

McClure  returned  the  scrutiny  without  a  shade  of 
fear.  It  was  not  bravado;  merely  an  attempt  to  find 
out  what  manner  of  man  Daka  was  beneath  the  rolling 
black  layers  of  fat  that  told  of  a  life  spent  in  hog-idle 
ness  and  gluttony. 

And  presently  the  chief's  glance  shifted. 

He  studied  McClure's  hippo-hide  bonds  nervously, 
as  if  he  were  afraid  they  might  not  be  strong  enough, 
and  as  the  trader  with  a  mighty  heave  raised  himself 
into  a  sitting  posture,  Daka's  coward  heart  jumped, 
his  beefy  jaw  sagged,  and  with  a  hurried,  backward 
scuffle  he  receded  from  the  doorway,  muttering  squeak- 
ily  in  the  Beni  jargon  and  waddled  hastily  out  of  Mc 
Clure's  sight. 

The  trader  grinned  contemptuously,  and  as  he  lay 
down  again  his  spirit  groaned  at  the  thought  of  dying 
at  the  hands  of  such  a  brute.  But  he  knew  perfectly 
well  that  making  Daka's  heart  pound  faster  would  not 
help  matters  any.  This  was  instantly  proven  by  the 


A  THREAT  AND  A  PROMISE         313 

return  of  his  pockmarked  guard,  accompanied  by  no 
fewer  than  five  wild  and  woolly  and  awful-smelling 
assistants,  each  of  whom  carried  a  machete. 

They  squatted  about  their  prisoner,  ready  to  do  him 
violent  injury  if  he  moved  so  much  as  a  finger.  Mc- 
Clure,  though  he  lay  very  still,  considered  each  of  them 
separately  with  a  cold  gray  stare  that  plainly  made 
them  very  uneasy. 

Centuries  passed;  the  air  became  a  little  cooler; 
darkness  came. 

And  almost  simultaneously — Cralla ! 

He  came  into  the  doorway  very  quietly,  just  as  the 
pockmarked  guard  lit  a  small  hurricane  lamp,  and  his 
face  was  as  passive  as  a  plaster-of-paris  cast.  Ignoring 
McClure's  impotent  glare  completely,  he  looked  the 
guards  over,  grunted  unintelligibly  and  went  out  again. 

McClure  did  not  know  what  to  think,  and  he  did 
not  want  to  think  at  all ;  but  thoughts  came  to  him — 
suspicions  and  fears  and  conjectures  that  were  like 
knife  thrusts. 

He  believed,  for  one  thing,  that  Miss  Severoid  was 
still  in  Benin  City  and  that  Clavering  meant  to  keep 
her  there ! 

And  then  his  tortured  mind  was  again  diverted  by 
the  entrance  of  a  mammy,  carrying  a  chop-pot  well- 
nigh  filled  with  steaming  palm-oil  chop,  which  is  the 
roast  beef  of  the  Delta  and  may  contain,  in  addition 
to  yams,  red  peppers  and  palm  oil,  almost  anything  the 
cook  cares  to  put  into  it. 

Instantly  McClure's  guards,  with  harsh  grunts  of 
approval,  deserted  him  to  squat  about  the  chop-pot 
and  gorge  themselves  in  their  own  way — which  isn't 
very  pretty  to  watch.  The  mammy  went  out,  and  a 
moment  or  two  later  Ilora  came  into  the  doorway. 

McClure's  glance  fell  upon  her  and  remained — won- 
deringly.  But  she  paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to 


314  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

him;  only  to  the  guards  so  busily  employed  about  the 
chop-pot. 

Her  presence  there  did  not  disturb  them  any  more 
than  Cralla's  had  done. 

Was  she  not  Cralla's  wife?  Was  Cralla  not  Daka's 
friend  ?  Had  Cralla  not  delivered  the  white  man  into 
Daka's  hands? 

Of  course! 

Consequently  Ilora  had  a  perfect  right  to  stand  in 
the  doorway  and  watch  them  eat. 

In  the  dim  light  McClure  could  not  see  her  face  very 
clearly,  but  he  saw  that  her  right  hand  was  concealed 
in  the  folds  of  her  overcloth,  and  that,  though  she 
remained  in  the  doorway  till  his  guards  had  finished 
eating,  her  right  hand  did  not  stir. 

Had  he  known  that  her  fingers  were  curving  about 
the  butt  of  his  own  revolver  he  might  have  felt  better 
— or  worse.  As  it  was,  the  only  thing  upon  his  mind 
was  a  large  and  heavy  question  mark. 

Ilora  had  had  no  difficulty  in  recovering  McClure's 
revolver.  That  had  been  the  least  of  her  troubles. 
Concealing  it  from  Clavering's  and  then  from  Cralla's 
watchful  eyes  had  been  much  more  difficult  than  pilfer 
ing  it  from  Miss  Severoid's  uniform  case. 

The  girl's  reason  for  taking  it  with  her  was  simple. 
It  was  McClure's  and  she  thought  he  might  need  it. 
She  also  hoped  he  would  use  it  as  she  directed. 

Presently  the  chop-pot  was  empty.  The  satiated 
Benis  reformed  their  circle  about  McClure  and  sat 
watching  him  contentedly  and  with  an  expression  upon 
their  faces  that  hoped  he  was  hungry  because  there  was 
nothing  left  for  him  to  eat. 

Ilora  went  noiselessly  out  again. 

Several  more  centuries  passed  and  a  deep  silence  fell 
upon  all  the  world  without.  The  city  had  dropped  off 


A  THREAT  AND  A  PROMISE          315 

to  sleep.  Apparently  there  were  to  be  no  revels  that 
night. 

McClure's  tongue  and  throat  were  hard  and  dry  and 
painful;  opalescent  pinwheels  began  to  revolve  before 
his  eyes,  which  were  slightly  bloodshot  again  and 
smarting  as  though  on  fire.  The  air  he  was  forced 
to  breathe  was  vilely  heavy  and  the  odors  screeched  to 
heaven. 

They  seemed  to  be  affecting  his  guards,  too.  They 
became  drowsy  one  by  one — too  drowsy  to  bother  talk 
ing.  But  when  Cralla's  head  man — big,  brutal,  and 
slant-eyed — came  in  with  several  bottles  of  raw  Ham 
burg  gin,  none  of  the  sleepy  guards  refused  his  share. 

It  was  Daka's  gin,  and  a  gift  from  Daka  was  a  gift 
from  the  gods.  So  they  drank,  and  the  head  man 
drank,  too.  But  he  had  not  had  yaka  juice  mixed  with 
his  palm-oil  chop.  When  a  machete  blade  snipped  the 
neck  off  a  fourth  bottle  he  alone  was  left  to  drink  it. 

Which  he  didn't.  He  threw  it  into  a  corner,  and, 
carefully  looking  over  his  unconscious  victims  who 
were  sprawled  about  McClure  like  unto  death,  he  rose 
from  his  haunches  and,  standing  over  the  bewildered 
trader,  announced  thickly  and  with  an  ugly  grin : 

"Cralla  come,  HT  bit.  He  'make  Daka  drunk  too 
much !" 

McClure  simply  stared  and  tried  to  reorganize  his 
thoughts.  He  was  not  given  the  opportunity,  because 
Ilora  came  in  again  at  that  moment,  and  with  a  gruff 
intimation  that  Cralla  was  coming,  instantly  produced 
a  long,  lean  knife,  fell  to  her  knees  and  began  slashing 
at  the  trader's  bonds  with  an  avidity  that  was  as  re 
markable  as  it  was  dangerous. 

But  she  made  no  mistakes.  Just  as  Cralla  crouched 
into  the  doorway  McClure  stagged  to  his  feet,  half 
crazy  with  the  pain  of  his  cramped  limbs,  the  delirious 


316  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

sensation  of  freedom  and  the  mystery  and  silence  and 
devilish  deliberateness  of  it  all. 

His  semi-cynical,  contemptuous  attitude  toward  his 
fate  altered  in  a  moment  to  an  insensate  desire  to  be 
free — to  know  his  enemies  from  his  friends  and  to 
crush  the  former  in  his  naked  hands.  And  he  looked 
as  if  he  could  crush  quite  a  number  of  them  that  way 
just  then. 

He  glared  about  him — at  Cralla,  at  Ilora,  at  the 
head  man  and  at  the  unconscious  Benis  at  his  feet. 
Then,  emitting  a  throaty  sound  of  pure  animal  joy,  he 
stooped  awkwardly,  seized  one  of  the  guards'  machetes 
and  straightened  again  with  the  madness  of  fight  in 
every  aching  nerve  and  sinew  of  his  massive  body. 

"Sof'ly,"  Cralla  warned  hoarsely.  "White  mammy 
live  for  Tulami.  We  go  dere.  Sof'ly,  sof'ly!" 

McClure's  glance  pierced  the  shadows  and  searched 
Cralla's  face  for  the  hint  of  a  lie,  while  he  tried  to  rub 
some  feeling  into  his  legs.  Then,  listening  a  moment 
or  two  and  hearing  no  sound  that  seemed  suspicious, 
he  switched  his  attention  sharply  to  Ilora. 

"He  talk  true?"  His  voice  rasped,  and  even  those 
three  words  hurt,  seeming  to  tear  his  dry  throat  to 
shreds. 

Ilora  cowered  from  his  bloodshot  eyes  whimper 
ingly. 

"Be — be  so.  He  talk  true.  White  mammy  live  for 
Tulami.  We  go  dere." 

McClure  did  not  believe  it.  He  knew  it  was  a  trick 
— some  subtle  trap  of  Clavering's — some  queer  twist 
of  that  arch-devil's  mind  intended  to  make  a  mockery 
of  his  hopes. 

But  he  followed  Cralla's  lead  without  another  word, 
thankful  for  the  chance  given  him  to  throw  his  head 
and  shoulders  back  and  fight. 

They  went  out  into  the  compound  with  scarcely  any 


A  THREAT  AND  A  PROMISE         317 

sound.  It  was  then  shortly  after  2  A.  M.  and  there  was 
very  little  moon ;  just  enough  to  allow  McClure  to  pick 
his  steps  with  fair  surety,  and  to  make  the  stark  forms 
of  sleeping  natives  distinct  enough  to  distinguish  them 
from  mango  sticks. 

It  was  many  minutes  before  the  gnawing  ache  of  the 
revived  circulation  of  blood  in  his  congested  legs  and 
arms  ceased  to  monopolize  his  attention. 

Looming  shapes  of  scattering  clusters  of  huts  were 
all  about  them,  and  as  they  threaded  their  way  through 
that  miniature  maze  and  across  an  open  space  into  the 
midst  of 'another  group  of  long,  squat  huts,  they  truly 
walked  into  the  shadow  of  death. 

But  Cralla  quite  evidently  knew  what  he  was  about, 
and  though  McClure  took  the  precaution  to  make  the 
headman  walk  before  him  and  had  Ilora  step  along  at 
his  left  side  so  that  her  shoulder,  pressing  against  his 
elbow,  acted  as  a  guide  at  every  twist  and  turn  they 
made,  it  seemed  as  though  his  carefulness  was  some 
what  unnecessary. 

It  was  like  a  city  of  the  dead ;  sweltering  and  torpid 
and  smothered  in  deep,  deep  shadows  and  deeper 
silences  that  suffocated.  A  grimy,  sinister  place  that, 
so  far  as  McClure  knew,  began  nowhere  and  rambled 
aimlessly  into  gloomy  space — a  city  with  a  thousand 
threats  in  every  corner  of  it  and  not  a  single  square 
inch  that  was  clean. 

And  then  they  were  out  of  slavedom — though  Mc 
Clure  did  not  know  they  had  been  in  it — and  were 
crossing  an  open  space  with  something  like  a  flagpole 
in  the  center  of  it. 

But  it  wasn't  a  flagpole.  It  was  a  good,  thick 
mango  stick — like  a  wharf  pile — and  in  the  daytime  its 
base  looked  like  a  butcher's  block. 

McClure  had  been  scheduled  to  die  there  ultimately 
— head  down. 


318  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

It  was  there,  as  Cralla  swerved  away  to  the  right  of 
that  place  of  barbarous  tortures  that  Ilora  huddled  a 
little  closer  to  McClure  and  breathed  very  softly. 

"Cralla  go  kill  you.     You  shoot  him?     I  get  gun." 

McClure  started  slightly,  thought  a  minute,  then 
whispered. 

"You  get  gun?    Where?" 

"You  shoot  him?  I  give  you  gun  if  you  shoot 
him.  He  go  kill  you !" 

McClure  walked  in  silence  for  a  space,  trying  to 
guess  what  was  behind  it  all.  Then  he  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  in  any  event  being  in  possession  of  a 
revolver  would  not  do  any  harm. 

"All  right.  LiT  bit  I  shoot.  When  we  get  out 
side.  You  get  gun?" 

And  Ilora  grinned  in  hideous  satisfaction;  actually 
quivered  with  the  joy  of  knowing  that  she,  herself, 
would  not  have  to  shoot  Cralla  through  the  head. 
McClure  was  going  to  do  it  for  her ! 

So  she  pressed  the  revolver  happily  into  his  keep 
ing,  and  his  hand  closed  over  it  as  a  man  grips  the 
hand  of  his  dearest  friend.  The  feel  of  it  told  him 
that  it  was  his  own,  but  he  smothered  the  impulsive 
question  that  sprang  to  his  tongue  and  followed 
silently  on. 

Still  swerving  to  the  right  and  apparently  uncon 
scious  of  the  conspiracy  hatching  behind  him,  Cralla 
led  them  toward  huts  that  loomed  larger  and  more 
importantly  out  of  the  murk.  Then,  curving  around 
the  outer  fringe  of  them  he  crept  cautiously  up  to 
something  that  suddenly  rose  out  of  the  earth — hum 
ming. 

The  humming  ceased. 

\Yith  every  nerve  strung  to  snapping  point,  McClure 
heard  a  gasp,  a  grunt,  and  the  sickening  impact  of  a 
blackjack  with  a  human  skull. 


A  THREAT  AND  A  PROMISE         319 

Then  silence. 

Cralla  went  on  again,  breathing  a  little  deeper,  and 
McClure  stepped  carefully,  following  the  headman's 
lead  so  that  he  would  not  tread  upon  the  fallen  Beni 
watch-boy ;  possibly  an  innovation  of  Clavering's  own. 

But  that  was  only  one. 

Winding  in  and  out  of  an  impenetrable  maze  of  by 
ways  that  could  not  have  been  dignified  even  with  the 
name  of  alleys,  Cralla  led  a  tortuous  route  in  a  catlike 
manner;  so  accurately  and  with  such  a  fine  sense  of 
what  was  dangerous  and  what  was  not  that  even  to 
McClure,  who  was  not  unused  to  native  villages,  it 
seemed  almost  supernatural. 

The  chief  appeared  to  sense  the  presence  of  a  watch- 
boy  minutes  before  they  came  to  one,  and  he  did  not 
seem  to  make  any  special  effort  to  avoid  them. 

McClure  had  counted  three  boys  when  the  clusters 
of  huts  began  to  thin  out  toward  the  city  wall. 

And  then  there  was  a  fourth  watch-boy — the  boy 
with  the  bush-dog  for  a  pet. 

The  boy  was  of  no  account 

But  the  bush-dog — 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

CRALLA? 

GEESE  saved  Rome;  field  mice  gnawed  the  bow 
strings  of  the  Assyrians  in  Sennacherib's  time,  and 
Rameses  is  pictured  using  lions  in  his  battle  line. 

But  this  is  a  short,  sharp  chapter  in  the  life  of  a 
mangy,  yellow  bush-dog  that  was  considered  to  be  of 
no  earthly  use  to  any  one. 

His  master,  the  watch-boy,  sank  under  Cralla's 
uncanny  attack  as  the  other  three  had  done — with  a 
choking  grunt  that  died  into  a  long-drawn-out  sigh. 
But  the  bush-dog,  wheeling  away  from  him  and  the 
chief,  yelped  with  all  its  lungs  and  went  on  yelping  its 
grief  and  terror  and  rage  to  heaven  till  other  bush-dogs 
near  and  far  sympathetically  took  up  the  strain. 

Cralla  swore ;  not  a  Jackrie  oath,  but  a  solid  English 
"Damn!"  that  startled  McClure  almost  as  much  as 
the  bush-dog's  yelping. 

But  there  was  no  time  to  be  startled. 

Cralla  knew  that,  and  plucking  up  his  trailing  cloth, 
he  promptly  took  to  his  heels,  hoarsely  calling  in 
Jackrie  for  the  others  to  follow. 

They  followed. 

Behind  them  Hades  was  let  loose  ere  they  had  gone 
fifty  yards.  Before  them  was  a  sort  of  Purgatory. 

Black  things  with  shapes  of  men  rose  out  of  the 
ground,  yawned  affrightedly  and  started  to  their  feet 
wondering  what  on  earth  was  the  matter.  And  that 
indecision  and  the  Beni's  natural  disinclination  to  fight 

320 


CRALLA?  321 

anything  until  he  is  sure  there  is  enough  of  him  to 
make  the  attack,  undoubtedly  helped  the  fugitives  con 
siderably. 

Frightened  questions,  screams  of  fear  and  the  wail 
ing  cries  of  suddenly  awakened  children  were  quickly 
mingled  in  an  inextricable  chaos  that  made  the  Benis 
still  more  uncertain;  but  the  moon,  with  an  eye  to 
scenic  effect,  came  out  from  behind  a  darkening  cloud 
and  shed  an  anemic  ray  upon  that  pandemonium. 

Cralla's  stride  lengthened  and  the  others  came 
swiftly  at  his  heels,  Ilora  holding  close  to  McClure's 
side,  gripping  a  long,  lean  knife  in  her  right  hand — 
the  knife  with  which  she  had  cut  the  trader's  bonds. 

There  were  Benis  everywhere.  They  poured  out 
of  their  huts  in  swarms  like  bees,  and  presently  the 
belching  roar  of  a  muzzle-loader  was  followed  by  the 
sharp  crack  of  a  rifle — one  of  Clavering's  gifts.  A 
bullet  hummed  past  McClure's  ear  and  told  him  that 
one  Beni  at  least  evidently  saw  clearly  enough  to  know 
what  was  wrong. 

He  did  not  know  where  Cralla  was  leading.  There 
were  huts  all  about  him  and  darksome  alleys  that  led 
Heaven  knew  where ;  but  he  did  know  that  the  oppor 
tunity  to  fight  was  being  largely  presented  to  him. 
And  when  Cralla  and  his  head  man  dived  into  a  sort  of 
lane  that  led  through  a  black  cluster  of  huts  into  the 
heart  of  a  mob  of  greasy,  smelly  beings,  he  cracked 
heads  upon  right  and  left  with  the  lusty  discrimina 
tion  of  a  man  possessed  of  several  devils. 

Ilora  was  keeping  close  within  the  shadow  of  his 
bulk,  using  the  long,  lean  knife  with  deadly  effect,  but 
even  then  her  queer,  savage  mind  was  hoping  that 
McClure  would  not  use  all  the  bullets  in  his  revolver, 
because  in  that  case  there  would  be  none  left  for 
Cralla. 

McClure,    strangely   enough,    was   dimly   thinking 


322  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

along  the  same  lines;  but  the  bullet  he  hoped  to  keep 
was  not  for  Cralla.  He  was  determined  not  to  go 
back  to  the  slave-huts  alive. 

Something  sharp  and  stinging  tore  through  the 
sleeve  of  his  shirt  and  made  a  little  furrow  on  the 
fleshy  part  of  his  arm ;  another  bullet  singed  the  top  of 
his  head  and  yet  another  chipped  the  edge  of  his 
machete  blade  and  almost  knocked  it  out  of  his  hand. 
But  he  took  no  count  of  these  things. 

He  saw  Benis  all  about  him,  and  each  was  a  threat 
though  most  of  them  were  fighting  aimlessly  because 
they  did  not  know  any  letter,  and  the  rest  were  whin 
ing  and  crouching  away  Irom  the  terrible  sweep  of  his 
right  arm  as  from  a  demigod. 

Shrieks  and  yells  and  the  wheezy,  hissing  breath 
of  fight ;  the  roar  and  rattle  of  heterogeneous  firearms ; 
the  ugly  snick,  snick  of  machete-blades;  the  wailing 
of  women;  the  pad  and  the  scuffling  of  many  feet; 
grunts  and  groans  and  the  guttural  Beni  oaths  were 
the  sounds  that  came  out  of  that  place  of  riot  and 
destruction. 

Then,  above  it  all,  McClure  became  conscious  of 
the  unmistakable  spit,  spit  of  an  automatic,  and  won 
dering  whence  it  came  suddenly  saw  Cralla  straight 
ahead,  mowing  a  path  for  himself,  wielding  a  ma 
chete  he  had  picked  up  somewhere  like  a  cavalryman's 
saber,  while  flashes  of  fire  spurted  intermittently  from 
his  left  hand. 

McClure  was  thunderstruck.  In  a  dim  sort  of  way, 
while  he  hacked  and  slashed  and  brought  himself  and 
Ilora  up  to  the  dead  man's  heels,  he  realized  that 
Cralla  was  fighting,  not  as  his  Jackrie  head  man  was 
fighting,  wildly  with  tooth  and  nail,  but  with  the  de 
liberation  and  poise  of  one  who  had  been  through 
many  such  encounters. 

In  fact,  McClure  was  so  astonished  it  almost  cost 


CRALLA?  323 

him  his  life.  In  that  moment  of  hesitation,  when 
the  moon  showed  him  the  chief  of  Akerri,  broad, 
erect,  and  magnificent,  moving  straight  and  swift  and 
sure  through  the  mob  of  thoroughly  scared  and  be 
wildered  Benis,  a  large  and  very  wideawake  brute 
sprang  at  the  trader  and  lunged  savagely  at  him  with 
the  broad-bladed  wrist-knife  of  the  upper  Niger. 

But  the  blow  only  gashed  McClure's  side  a  little; 
and  the  black  hulk  hurtling  sidewise,  grunted  like  a 
stuck  pig,  and  dropped  quietly  at  the  trader's  feet 
as  Ilora,  sinuous  and  terrible,  slid  from  under  his 
drooping  weight,  drawing  a  long,  lean  knife  out  of 
his  vitals. 

The  girl  grinned  through  the  blood  on  her  face, 
and  McClure,  instantly  conscious  of  what  she  had 
done  for  him,  seized  her  into  the  shelter  of  his  left 
arm,  and  went  altogether  mad. 

He  swept  through  that  greasy,  sweating  pack  like 
a  cyclone;  a  giant  with  bloodshot  eyes,  whose  breath 
was  as  the  hiss  of  a  snake,  and  whose  right  arm 
whirled  and  cut  with  the  devastating  sweep  of  a  scythe 
in  a  cornfield. 

Benis  huddled  away  from  him  whimpering.  They 
called  him  a  devil,  and  respected  him  as  such,  and 
those  who  lived  to  tell  of  it  spoke  of  him  as  a  juju. 

He  forced  the  headman  to  Cralla's  shoulder  and 
drove  even  Cralla  ahead  with  the  battering-ram  force 
of  the  madness  that  was  upon  him.  And  then  he 
was  at  Cralla's  side,  and  they  went  through  the  last 
fragment  of  that  evil-smelling  crew  together ;  through 
it  as  a  knife  cuts  cheese,  while  a  hail  of  bullets  and 
other  miscellaneous  missiles  whined  about  their  heads 
and  plowed  into  the  slimy  filth  at  their  feet. 

Some  of  the  Benis  followed  them  as  they  sprinted 
for  the  narrow  gate  of  the  city,  but  most  of  them 
didn't.  The  few  who  knew  what  it  was  about  had 


324  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

had  enough,  and  the  rest  were  screeching  questions 
and  waiting,  shivering,  for  coherent  answers. 

Cralla  knew  that,  and  he  also  knew  that  when  these 
answers  were  forthcoming  there  wasn't  a  corner  in 
the  Beni  country  north  of  Mayona  that  would  be  safe 
for  him  and  his  companions.  Chief  Tomi  would  har 
bor  them  even  in  defiance  of  Daka — if  Clavering  said 
so.  Tulami's  old  chief  wouldn't,  because  his  village 
was  too  small  and  too  near  Benin  City. 

To  reach  Mayona  before  Daka's  blood-crazy  hordes 
overtook  them — that  was  the  situation  Cralla  faced. 

There  were  two  ways  to  meet  it.  To  fend  for 
himself,  which  gave  him  an  excellent  chance  of  life, 
or — 

Cralla  was  thinking  of  the  other  way  as  they  neared 
the  city  wall,  and  even  as  his  automatic  spat — once, 
twice,  thrice — and  two  of  the  half-dozen  guardians  at 
the  gate  dropped  in  their  tracks  as  they  fled,  the  chief 
smiled  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

McClure  had  not  even  seen  the  Benis  at  the  gate. 
As  he  ran,  Ilora  clinging  to  his  belt  and  the  riot  of 
sound  behind  them  lending  wings  to  their  feet,  his 
amazement  regarding  Cralla's  methods  and  marksman 
ship  increased  a  thousandfold. 

They  swept  triumphantly  through  the  unguarded 
gate  to  a  greater  measure  of  freedom. 

They  were  each  more  or  less  blood-spattered  and 
bore  many  little  marks  of  conflict — cuts  that  were 
deeper  than  scratches  and  little  furrows  the  Beni  bul 
lets  and  pot-legs  had  made.  The  most  serious  of 
their  wounds  was  the  half  of  an  ear  the  headman  had 
lost;  and  that  was  serious  because  it  might  be  mis 
taken  for  a  mark  of  slavery. 

But  Cralla  had  no  time  to  bother  about  that.  Plung 
ing  through  the  darkness,  he  kept  on  and  on,  till  Mc 
Clure  lost  all  knowledge  of  distance,  and  till  the 


CRALLA?  325 

roarings  and  the  screaming  of  the  outraged  Benis 
grew  fainter  and  fainter,  fading  into  a  dull  hum  that 
died  away  altogether. 

Apparently  there  was  no  pursuit  then. 

Ilora  suddenly  tugged  at  McClure's  sleeve  and  whis 
pered  harshly. 

"Why  you  no  shoot?  You  be  fool!  He  go  kill 
you!" 

McClure  was  startled.  He  had  been  thinking  as  he 
ran  of  the  marvel  of  Cralla's  fighting  methods  and 
had  forgotten  all  about  Ilora's  warning  that  the  chief 
had  designs  upon  his  life,  and  of  his  own  promise  to 
her.  Before  he  had  a  chance  to  frame  an  excuse 
Cralla  halted  before  an  almost  invisible  path  and 
wheeled  upon  the  trader  and  the  girl  so  suddenly  that 
the  former  thought  that  Ilora's  warning  had  not  been 
idle. 

McClure's  revolver  rose  sharply,  but  in  an  instant 
he  saw  that  the  chief's  hands  were  empty.  Peering 
into  his  face  he  had  a  sudden  and  sharp  suspicion  that 
was  staggering. 

Ilora  cowered  out  of  sight  behind  him.  She,  too, 
thought  that  her  whisper  had  been  loud  enough  for 
Cralla  to  hear,  even  though  she  knew  that  the  chief 
had  not  stopped  for  that  alone,  but  because  the  path 
led  to  a  small  juju  worshiping-hut  where  a  black,  tar 
paulin-covered  pack  lay  concealed. 

Cralla  looked  interrogatively  at  McClure's  revolver, 
and  the  trader  lowered  it  slowly,  feeling  rather  foolish. 

"Ilora— wah!" 

The  girl  whined,  hesitated,  then  slunk  from  the 
protection  of  McClure's  great  body,  fumbling  with  the 
haft  of  her  knife,  the  blade  of  which  was  concealed  in 
the  folds  of  her  cloth. 

"Did  you  give  him — that  revolver?"  Cralla  asked 
in  the  Jackrie  tongue. 


326  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

No  answer. 

"Where  did  you  get  it?" 

Still  no  answer.  Ilora's  sinuous  body  twisted  awk 
wardly,  and  the  whites  of  her  eyes  showed.  Quite 
evidently  she  was  waiting  for  McClure  to  keep  his 
promise. 

The  quiet  was  painful,  and  McClure,  who  under 
stood  Jackrie  well  enough  to  know  what  was  said,  also 
felt  he  would  like  to  know  where  Ilora  had  found  his 
revolver.  The  headman  simply  stood  by  nursing  his 
ear  and  muttering  unhappily  to  himself. 

"Where  did  you  get  it?"  Cralla  asked  again  in 
Jackrie  and  took  a  sudden  step  forward. 

Ilora  screamed  and  straightened.  With  a  whine  of 
savage  rage  and  hopelessness  she  sprang  like  a  puma 
at  Cralla,  one  long,  glittering  claw  glinting  in  the 
moonlight  as  her  arm  swept  up,  then  down  into  space. 

There  was  an  ugly  Jackrie  oath,  a  short,  sharp 
struggle,  and  the  knife  tinkled  from  Ilora's  hand  to 
the  path  at  Cralla's  feet.  He  put  his  naked  foot  upon 
it,  and  still  gripping  Ilora's  wrists,  while  she  writhed 
and  fought  savagely  to  be  free,  he  began  to  pronounce 
the  anathema  which  no  Jackrie  can  hear  and  live  with 
any  degree  of  comfort  ever  afterward. 

McClure  shut  his  ears  to  it  and  the  headman  shiv 
ered  and  turned  away. 

Ilora's  struggles  ceased.  She  whined  and  wilted 
and  slipped  out  of  Cralla's  grasp  to  shiver  and  moan 
and  clutch  him  about  the  ankles  in  a  terror  that  was 
not  of  the  flesh. 

And  the  ranting,  dirgelike  strain  halted. 

Kicking  himself  free  of  Ilora's  fawning  arms  and 
stooping  to  secure  the  knife,  Cralla's  manner  changed 
in  a  moment.  He  became  suddenly  very  quiet  and 
seemed  to  be  listening. 

And  then — 


CRALLA?  327 

"Already !    Lord,  that's  quick !" 

It  was  in  perfect  English.  Before  McClure  could 
decide  whether  or  not  he  had  heard  aright,  Cralla 
went  on,  speaking  very  fast : 

"This  is  my  station,  Mac.  I  get  off  here,  but  you 
and  Dobo  and  the  girl,  if  she  wants  to,  must  go  on  to 
Tulami — and  go  like  the  devil,  too.  And  don't  stop 
there  a  minute.  Get  to  Mayona  and  have  Tomi  put 
you  up.  You'll  be  safe  there.  Say  I  sent  you,  and 
tell  Miss  Severoid  that  I  took  her  advice  on  the  ques 
tion  of  color,  but  I'm  sorry  the  wager's  off. 

"Now,  skip.  Those  devils  are  coming,  and  coming 
fast — and  there's  a  lot  of  them.  Good-by,  Mac. 
I've  hated  you,  and  I  hate  you  now  more  than  ever  I 
did  because  you  are  going — to  her.  Still,  you  are 
a  wonderful  fighter,  and  killing  you  would  have  been 
a  pleasure  and  an  honor. 

"But  she  needs  you,  and  you  must  go  to  her.  So 
hurry  along  like  a  good  chap.  You  haven't  a  minute 
to  lose,  though  I'll  try  to  hold  them  as  long  as  I  can." 

The  voice  was  soft  and  easy,  without  a  single  tremor 
in  it;  the  voice  of  a  man  to  whom  death  is  an  every 
day  threat  and  of  no  consequence  whatever.  As  the 
tawny  hand  came  out,  McClure,  but  dimly  compre 
hending  what  "Cralla"  meant  to  do,  seized  it  in  a  grip 
that  made  the  "chief"  wince. 

"You — you — are — "  he  sputtered  hopelessly. 

"That's  it.  Splendid  guess.  But  she's  waiting  for 
you,  man,  and  you  must  get  her  to  Mayona.  Must! 
Understand  ?  And  those  beasts  will  be  at  Tulami  be 
fore  breakfast." 

"Bu — but — great  Heavens !  You  can't — you're  not 
going  to — " 

"No,  no,  not  at  all.  That's  all  right.  But  she 
needs  us  both  just  now,  and  your  job  is  to  get  her  to 
Mayona.  Be  good  to  her,  and  keep  an  eye  on  that 


328  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

brother  of  hers.  He's  got  a  devil  in  him.  Now  go, 
you  damned  fool!  You're  wasting  time.  Dobo  will 
show  you  the  way  and  beat  up  the  carriers  for  you. 
Good-by." 

And  in  a  moment,  with  a  harsh  order  to  Dobo,  he 
had  dived  into  the  bush  and  was  gone ! 

McClure's  mind  was  in  a  maze. 

That  brother  of  hers!  Wager!  Cralla!  Claver- 
ing!  Benis  at  Tulami  before  breakfast! 

The  last  was  the  only  thing  he  properly  understood, 
and  it  put  life  into  his  limbs  very  suddenly,  so  that 
when  the  headman  started  off  into  the  gloom,  McClure 
turned  heavily  to  follow,  because  it  was  the  only  thing 
to  do. 

He  hardly  noticed  Ilora,  who  crouched  almost  at 
his  feet,  until  he  nearly  tripped  over  her.  Then  he 
stopped,  stooped,  and  offered  to  assist  her  to  rise. 

"Come.  We  go.  Bad  man  come,"  he  said  gently, 
touching  her  shoulder  and  hoping  the  headman  would 
not  get  away  too  far. 

But  Ilora,  pumalike  to  the  last,  snarled  and  turned 
like  a  flash  upon  the  hand  that  had  failed  her,  and  her 
teeth,  snapping  upon  his  little  finger,  sank  into  it — to 
the  bone! 

McClure's  bellow  of  surprise  and  pain  echoed  and 
reechoed  weirdly  through  the  darkness.  Ere  the 
sound  of  it  had  died  away  the  girl  leaped  to  her  feet, 
spat  his  own  blood  at  him  in  contempt,  and  fled — to 
join  her  chief! 

But  Cralla  had  gone  to  make  himself  ready  to  die 
in  the  habiliment  of  a  white  man  and  a  gentleman. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 
"LIKE  A  GENTLEMAN — UNAFRAID" 

A  BIG,  sandy-haired  man,  spattered  with  blood  like  a 
butcher's  killer,  staggered  into  Tulami  with  the  dawn, 
following  a  Jackrie  who  was  minus  half  an  ear. 

And  they  found  the  place  full  of  Yorubas.  There 
were  three  companies  under  the  command  of  Lieuten 
ant  Maybrick  and  his  juniors,  Dale  and  Forrester. 

When  McClure  saw  them  he  thought  it  was  a 
hallucination;  a  horrible  trick  his  tortured  mind  was 
playing  him. 

But  the  Yorubas  were  very  real  and  very  desperate. 
The  rain-storm  that  had  at  first  held  Miss  Severoid 
in  Tulami  on  tenter-hooks  for  twenty-four  hours,  to 
gether  with  the  hours  occupied  in  securing  McClure's 
release,  had  just  been  hours  enough  to  enable  the 
Saloko  contingent  Maybrick  had  sent  for  to  join  him 
at  Basanna. 

It  had  marched  to  Mayona  in  time  to  rescue  two 
half-dead  Yoruba  orderlies  from  an  ugly  fate  in  such 
a  decided  manner  that  Chief  Tomi  had  instantly 
stopped  bubbling  over  with  good  humor,  and  was  not 
in  the  least  likely  to  do  so  again.  He  was  dead. 

Then  Maybrick  had  followed  the  trail  of  the  fugi 
tives  to  Tulami  through  the  night,  and  had  arrived 
barely  an  hour  before,  much  to  the  relief  and  conster 
nation  of  Miss  Severoid,  who  did  not  know  what  to  say 
or  do  or  think  for  several  minutes. 

Then  she  had  led  Maybrick  into  the  hut  where  her 
brother  lay  sleeping,  and  told  the  lieutenant  where 

329 


330  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

Ralph  had  been  and  how  she  had  got  him  back;  that 
McClure  had  been  left  behind  in  Benin  City,  and  that 
Clavering — who  had  not  been  at  all  unpleasant  to  her 
at  Mayona — had  gone  to  get  the  trader  out.  All  of 
which  made  the  lieutenant  look  stupid,  more  particu 
larly  when  he  looked  at  Ralph  and  then  at  Ralph's 
sister. 

Then,  still  feeling  somewhat  guilty  about  the  May 
ona  affair,  he  had  violently  shaken  her  hand,  and  said 
he  was  jolly  glad  and  hoped  everything  would  be  all 
right.  He  went  out  to  tell  Forrester  and  Dale  of  how 
badly  everybody  had  been  fooled — not  including  him 
self,  of  course ;  how  Cralla,  of  Akerri,  had  taken  young 
Debenham  out  of  Benin  City,  and  of  how  Clavering 
had  rescued  the  expedition  from  him,  Maybrick,  at 
Mayona,  and  was  now  gone  to  save  McClure  from  a 
horrible  fate  in  Benin  City. 

Maybrick  had  no  idea  that  Miss  Severoid  had  had 
a  share  in  the  Mayona  "rescue." 

Forrester  said  it  was  like  a  bally  play,  and  Dale 
remarked  that  Miss  Severoid  was  a  deuced  plucky 
little  woman,  and  hoped  old  Talbot — who  was  the 
D.  C.  at  Saloko,  and  not  at  all  old — wouldn't  be  an  ass 
and  raise  a  dust  about  it. 

"But  he  won't,"  Maybrick  said  sotto  voce.  "Not 
when  he  sees  her.  Don't  suppose  it's  any  use  hoping 
that  Clavering  will  walk  right  into  our  arms  ?" 

McClure  was  the  answer. 

The  big  man  asked  no  questions.  He  stopped, 
stared  hard  at  Maybrick  particularly,  and  got  his 
breath  again.  When  a  little  golden-haired,  blue-eyed 
woman  rushed,  sobbing  and  laughing  hysterically  to 
meet  him,  he  patted  her  on  the  shoulder  and  babbled 
about  things  she  did  not  understand.  Then,  casting 
his  bloodshot  eyes  over  the  Yorubas,  he  screeched  at 
their  officers  in  a  voice  that  whistled. 


"LIKE  A  GENTLEMAN— UNAFRAID"      331 

"They're  coming!  Daka's  crowd — blood  mad! 
Cla — Cralla's  back  there — trying  to  stop  them.  I'm 
going  back  to — "  He  stopped,  wheeled,  and  grabbed 
Dobo,  the  headman,  by  the  shoulder.  "Here,  you! 
You're  in  this !  Show  me  the  way  and  get  a  move  on, 
damn  you!  Edge!" 

The  final  word  was  a  shriek,  and  McClure  was  not 
quite  sane  when  he  suddenly  turned  and  bolted  through 
the  Yoruba  lines  again,  dragging  the  headman  with 
him  toward  the  bush-path  leading  to  Benin  City.  Yet 
he  was  sane  enough  to  want  to  reach  Clavering  before 
the  Yorubas  did,  and,  if  the  outlaw  were  alive,  to  give 
him  the  chance  of  escape  that  he,  McClure,  felt  was 
his  due. 

That  the  trader  had  been  betrayed  into  Daka's 
hands  by  Clavering,  and  for  some  unexplainable  rea 
son  had  been  rescued  again,  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  matter.  Such  was  the  character  of  McClure's 
love  for  the  woman  whose  scream  followed  him  into 
the  green  bank  of  the  bush. 

He  knew  that  Clavering  was  "back  there  some 
where"  fighting — for  her;  which  made  the  outlaw 
McClure's  brother  at  once  and  without  a  single  ques 
tion.  Afterward  they  might — and  probably  would — 
settle  matters  between  themselves,  but  not  then. 

He  heard  the  soft  thunder  of  the  Yorubas'  naked 
feet  behind  him  before  he  had  gone  half  a  mile,  and 
they  crept  nearer  and  nearer  at  every  step,  because 
McClure  was  too  big  a  man  to  do  the  running  he  had 
done  that  night  and  still  be  in  any  sort  of  condition  to 
compete  with  a  Yoruba. 

Dobo,  the  headman,  helped  him  a  little,  principally 
because  he  did  not  like  the  feel  of  McClure's  revolver 
pressing  into  his  spine,  and,  running  ahead  of  the 
touch  of  it,  acted  as  a  sort  of  pacemaker;  so  that  he 
was  the  first  to  come  into  conflict  with  Daka's  revenge- 


332  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

ful  mob — south  of  the  little  path  leading  to  the  little 
juju  worshiping-hut. 

McClure  thought  that  he  heard  the  spit  of  an  auto 
matic,  and  instantly  showed  the  Yorubas  and  their 
officers  behind  him  what  a  man  can  do  sometimes  and 
live. 

Some  of  the  Benis  were  visible  on  the  path.  The 
rest  were  in  the  bush. 

But  McClure  did  not  bother  about  those  he  could 
not  see.  He  went  straight  ahead  with  the  spit  of  an 
automatic  revolver  calling  him  on  and  on  and  into  an 
exhibition  of  the  sort  of  madness  a  man  may  be  capable 
of  only  once  in  a  lifetime,  because  he  usually  dies  in 
the  midst  of  it. 

Bullets  and  pot-legs  and  other  ammunition  rained 
around  McClure's  head  and  spurted  about  his  feet. 
The  hum  and  the  whine  and  the  chug  of  them  were 
constantly  in  his  ears.  They  rent  his  clothing  and 
singed  his  hair,  and  made  little  furrows  in  his  legs 
and  arms  and  over  his  ribs,  and  one  actually  cut  his 
right  shoe-lace  in  passing. 

But,  broad  and  deep  as  his  chest  was — and  his  head 
was  big  enough,  too — the  Benis  could  not  find  them. 

He  plunged  into  their  midst,  took  the  rifle  out  of 
the  hands  of  one  big  brute,  and  clubbed  him  over  the 
head  with  it ;  chanced  to  glimpse  another  taking  a  pot 
shot  at  him,  and  in  a  cold  and  terribly  deliberate 
fashion  fired  at  the  Beni's  trigger-finger — and  laughed 
horribly  when  the  woolly  one  howled,  dropped  his 
gun,  and  fled. 

McClure  wasn't  thinking.  He  was  just  going — 
guided  partly  by  Dobo,  but  greatly  by  the  spiteful 
crack  of  an  automatic. 

And  when  he  reached  the  little  path  leading  to  the 
juju  worshiping-hut  the  Benis  were  in  full  flight,  and 
the  Yorubas  were  chasing  them  back  into  their  "infer- 


"LIKE  A  GENTLEMAN— UNAFRAID"      333 

nal  city,"  and  were  giving  them  reason  to  believe  it 
would  be  best  to  stay  there  for  a  while — at  least  till 
the  terrible  little  brown  men  had  gone. 

McClure  could  have  found  the  path  he  sought  with 
out  guidance.  The  dead  were  thickest  there,  and  the 
mouth  of  the  path  was  choked  so  that  McClure  and  the 
headman  had  to  clear  it  a  little  and  go  to  Clavering's 
side,  stepping  very  carefully. 

And  twenty  yards  within  the  path,  with  the  spit  of 
an  automatic  still  in  his  ears,  McClure  found  Claver- 
ing — dead  in  the  midst  of  dead. 

Ilora  was  stretched  on  her  face  at  his  feet. 

Benis  were  strewn  before  and  behind  them  in  thick 
and  ghastly  profusion,  and  Clavering's  automatic  was 
still  in  his  hand.  But  it  was  empty,  and  had  been  for 
more  than  an  hour. 

There  was  no  trace  of  Cralla's  personality  in  his 
face,  which  by  some  kindly  whim  of  fate  was  scarcely 
marked.  The  tawny  skin,  the  puffy  cheeks  and  lips, 
the  flabby  throat,  the  trailing  cloth,  and  the  gray  hair 
were  gone.  The  chief  of  Akerri  had  given  way  to  a 
lean-faced  white  man  in  white  flannels,  with  a  deep- 
red  cummerbund  about  his  waist. 

There  was  an  ugly  hole  where  the  pocket  of  his  silk 
tennis-shirt  had  been. 

Ilora's  position  in  death  was  emblematic  of  what  it 
had  been  in  life.  She  always  had  been — figuratively 
and  sometimes  literally — upon  her  face  at  his  feet.  A 
deep  and  lasting  respect,  born  of  fear  and  superstition, 
had  kept  her  there  and  had  drawn  her  there  at  the 
end  to  fawn  upon  him  and  fight  for  him  and  plead  for 
giveness  for  her  sins. 

McClure  was  stupefied  at  first,  and  he  had  a  dull 
sort  of  regret  that  Clavering  and  he  could  not  "have 
it  out,"  after  all.  Then,  the  madness  of  fight  dying 
out  of  his  blood,  he  felt  chilly  and  choky  and  utterly 


334  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

unable  to  think  coherently  for  several  minutes;  just 
stood  looking  solemnly  down  into  the  outlaw's  face 
and  subconsciously  bowed  his  head  in  silent  tribute  to 
the  thing  that  Clavering  had  done — for  the  little  blue- 
eyed  woman  at  Tulami. 

Dobo  whined  and  wrung  his  hands.  His  knees 
shook  and  sagged,  and  just  as  he  was  ready  to  give 
way  to  the  customary  Jackrie  wail  over  their  dead — 
while  the  threat  to  bolt  showed  clearly  in  his  face — 
McClure  took  a  firm  grip  of  his  arm  and  growled 
harshly. 

"Keep  that  till  you  get  back  to  Akerri!  He  died 
white — white!  You  understand?" 

Dobo  wasn't  sure,  but  the  threatened  wail  was 
stilled.  Presently,  when  McClure's  mind  had  adjusted 
itself  a  little  and  thoughts  came  to  him  more  clearly, 
he  began  to  question  Dobo,  who  very  reluctantly — 
even  at  the  revolver  point — led  him  to  the  juju  wor- 
shiping-hut.  There  they  came  upon  a  black,  tarpaulin- 
covered  carrier's  pack. 

It  was  not  closed ;  in  fact,  it  was  in  a  state  of  riotous 
disorder,  as  if  there  had  been  no  time  to  put  things  in 
their  proper  places. 

But  all  that  was  left  of  Cralla  was  in  it;  the  whole 
paraphernalia  that  had  gone  to  make  up  that  astound 
ing  personality. 

A  gray  wig  that  was  a  masterpiece  of  the  wigmaker's 
art ;  a  flowing  piece  of  "real  India" ;  some  little  black, 
flat-sided  beads  made  out  of  a  sticky,  gelatinlike  sub 
stance  that  bore  remarkable  resemblance  to  the  putty- 
like  marks  that  decorated  Cralla's  forehead  and  cheeks ; 
bottles,  large  and  small,  containing  differently  shaded 
dyes;  grease  paints  and  spirit  gum;  tawny-colored 
pastes  of  delicately  differing  shades;  little  camel's- 
hair  brushes  with  the  dye  stain  upon  them;  crinkly 
false  hair  of  a  grayish  shade  that  had  helped  the  illu- 


"LIKE  A  GENTLEMAN— UNAFRAID"      335 

sion  of  the  wig;  a  small,  three-paneled  shaving  mirror 
— a  veritable  dressing-room  in  miniature,  with  sep 
arate  compartment  for  clothes — that  had  enabled 
Clavering  to  produce  effects  that  had  altered  not  only 
the  color  of  his  skin,  but  also  every  line  of  his  coun 
tenance  with  the  facility  and  ingenuity  of  a  protean 
artist. 

And  Clavering  had  quite  evidently  been  no  mere 
bungler  who  had  taken  the  part  of  Cralla  in  an  ama 
teurish  spirit  of  adventure.  He  had  been  an  artist 
of  the  first  order,  who  had  practised  his  art  to  the 
most  minute  detail;  who  had  omitted  nothing,  and 
who  had  not  only  made  himself  look  like  a  middle- 
aged  Jackrie  chief,  but  had  actually  been  Cralla,  chief 
of  Akerri,  to  the  life — impressive,  fawning,  crafty, 
vicious,  and  brutal — a  Jackrie  chieftain  to  his  finger 
tips. 

How  he  had  produced  the  effect  of  the  puffy  lips  and 
cheeks  and  the  sign  of  Jackrie  middle  age  that  had 
hung  about  Cralla's  flabby  throat — and  all  the  little 
effects — the  thick  and  mottled  skin  and  the  lines  and 
creases  that  had  left  only  Clavering's  eyes  and  a  fairly 
straight  nose — is  a  secret  that  died  with  him. 

Dobo  could  not  tell,  and  McClure  questioned  him 
upon  everything  that  chanced  to  come  into  his  head 
just  then. 

But  the  dual  personality  explained  many  things  that 
had  hitherto  been  very  mysterious — of  which  Claver 
ing's  escape  through  the  Yoruba  lines  at  Saganna  is 
a  good  example. 

Chief  Rama,  who  had  been  the  victim  of  that  fiasco, 
had  threatened  to  become  too  independent  and,  con 
sequently,  dangerous.  And  Cralla  had  betrayed  him 
to  the  government  and  had  had  him  wiped  out  in  a 
manner  that  for  sheer  subtle  devilishness  would  be 
hard  to  equal.  The  "box  seat"  Clavering  had  re- 


336  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

ferred  to  in  his  "special  from  the  front"  also  becomes 
understandable,  and  the  "war  correspondent"  had 
written  his  report  iq  the  little  cabin  of  the  government 
supply-launch  that  had  borne  him  safely  from  the 
scene  of  the  fight.  McClure  did  not  know  the  details 
of  that  incident  then,  but  he  knew  of  others;  some 
that  have  happened  in  this  story  and  some  that  have 
not,  and,  remembering  that  evening  at  Basanna  when 
Cralla  had  crossed  foils  with  Maybrick,  McClure  shook 
his  head  hopelessly  and  felt  numb  with  the  mystery 
and  the  queer  magnificence  of  what  Clavering's  life 
and  death  had  been. 

Dobo,  the  headman,  very  unwillingly  explained  that 
Ilora  and  he  and  one  or  two  very  influential  chiefs  had 
known  that  Clavering  and  Cralla  were  the  same,  and, 
though  a  few  of  the  smaller  fry  may  have  suspected 
it,  the  effect  their  knowledge  had  upon  their  attitude 
toward  Clavering  was  to  regard  him  as  being  still 
more  of  a  juju  than  ever. 

Any  white  man  who  could  go  into  a  hut  and  in  half 
an  hour  come  out  of  it  a  Jackrie  chief  was  undoubt 
edly  a  supernatural  being. 

Also,  according  to  Dobo,  Cralla  had  originally  come 
from  a  "far  country" — which  is  the  Jackrie  equivalent 
for  anywhere  outside  Jackriedom — and,  settling  in 
Akerri,  had  quickly  insinuated  himself  into  the  posi 
tion  of  chief.  Some  of  the  most  important  Jackrie 
chiefs  had  resented  the  intrusion,  but  they  had  speedily 
been  brought  to  terms,  and  Cralla — or  Clavering — 
had  not  looked  back  from  that  moment. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  pack  to  indicate  who 
Clavering  had  been  or  whence  he  had  come.  McClure 
learned  nothing  of  his  beginnings  whatsoever.  No 
one  ever  did.  He  died  as  he  had  lived,  queerly  and 
uncannily,  estranged  from  his  color  and  his  kin. 

Of  the  man  himself,  he  was  an  enigma;  but  it  i? 


"LIKE  A  GENTLEMAN— UNAFRAID"      337 

reasonably  certain  that  in  Cralla  he  portrayed  the 
creature  that  had  lurked  under  Clavering's  skin;  that 
wild,  murderous  animal  that  had  found  its  level  among 
those  to  whose  habits  and  customs  Clavering  had 
descended. 

Clavering,  the  spectacular  gambler  with  fate — the 
man  with  the  ragged  edges  of  a  soul  who  had  tried 
vainly  to  lift  himself  once  more  to  the  level  of  the 
blue-eyed,  motherly  little  woman  who  had  flirted  her 
way  into  his  heart — that  man  unmistakably  had  had 
the  beginnings  of  a  gentleman. 

But  Cralla — well,  he  was  a  Jackrie,  and  he  was 
unquestionably  the  stronger  personality  of  the  two. 
Many  times  had  Cralla  shown  through  the  individual 
ity  of  Clavering,  but  not  once  until  the  great  test  came 
did  the  white  man  show  above  Cralla's  tawny  skin. 

The  solitary  and  ugly  reference  he  had  made  to  his 
mother  might  have  explained  much  had  he  been  a 
little  more  generous  with  the  details. 

Maybrick  and  his  fellow  lieutenants  when  they  re 
turned  from  "the  chase"  were  all  very  much  startled 
to  learn  that  Cralla  and  Clavering  were  one  and  the 
same.  In  fact,  startled  is  not  the  word.  Petrified  is 
better. 

And  when  they  looked  into  the  carrier's  pack  and 
heard  McClure's  story  and  understood  it,  their  first 
feeling  of  satisfaction  that  the  notorious  outlaw  was 
dead  gave  way  to  a  quite  different  sort  of  sensation 
that  made  them  look  down  upon  Clavering's  clay  with 
a  new  and  silent  respect. 

Lieutenant  Dale  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Let's— that  is — let's  bury  them  decently,"  he  man 
aged  to  say,  and  it  was  as  if  Solomon  had  spoken 
because  their  minds — Maybrick's  particularly — were 
trying  to  believe  that  the  Gralla  they  had  known  and 
greeted  time  and  again  was  the  man  who  had  turned 


338  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

Nigeria  upside  down  and  had  died  that  a  little  white 
woman  might  live. 

And  while  several  Yorubas  were  busy  with  machetes, 
scooping  out  two  long,  narrow  holes  in  the  soft  ground 
just  outside  the  juju  worshiping  hut,  Lieutenant  Dale 
fashioned  a  rude  cross  out  of  mango-sticks.  When 
the  graves  had  been  dug  and  were  filled  he  stepped 
forward  rather  guiltily  and  stuck  it  into  the  ground  at 
Clavering's  head. 

There  was  something  crudely  cut  upon  each  side  of 
the  crosspiece — letters  that  stood  out  white  and  strong 
against  the  tawny-colored  mango-bark.  The  others 
went  forward  to  read  what  Dale  had  done  with  his 
pocket-knife. 

CLAVERING— CRALLA 

Just  that  and  nothing  more. 

"Wonder  which  will  last  longer?"  Dale  questioned 
simply,  suggesting  that  he  had  a  mind  that  could  stray 
a  considerable  distance  from  bullets  and  battle  when 
the  occasion  demanded  it. 

No  one  answered.  When  McClure  stuck  a  sprig  of 
evergreen  at  Ilora's  head  no  one  questioned  why. 

Maybrick,  who  was  stroking  his  chin  reflectively, 
said  quite  suddenly  and  harshly,  as  if  he  had  a  griev 
ance  against  everybody  in  general : 

"Oh,  rats !     I'm  going  to  do  it,  anyway !" 

And  in  less  than  a  minute  he  had  a  squad  of  Yoru 
bas  drawn  up  beside  those  two  rising  heaps,  and  three 
sharp  but  very  solemn  volleys  were  fired  across  them 
in  respect  for  a  thing  that  had  been  done — not  with 
the  blare  of  trumpets  or  in  the  passion  or  the  madness 
of  a  moment,  but  with  the  quiet,  deliberate  calm  of  "a 
gentleman — unafraid." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

THE    HEADSTONE 

OF  the  return  to  Tulami  it  is  only  necessary  to  state 
that  it  was  quiet — very  quiet. 

The  officers  agreed  to  allow  McClure  to  tell  Miss 
Severoid  the  story.  McClure  said  little. 

Even  under  these  circumstances  he  was  having  con 
siderable  difficulty  in  treating  Maybrick  civilly.  Mc 
Clure  had  an  uncomfortably  long  memory. 

Looking  more  like  a  butcher's  killer  than  ever,  he 
washed  off  the  traces  of  the  night's  and  morning's 
conflict  and  patched  himself  in  a  dozen  little  places 
ere  he  met  Miss  Severoid  in  the  latter's  hut. 

They  looked  at  each  other  for  minutes  before  either 
spoke,  and  understood  each  other  perfectly — without 
a  word. 

Ralph  was  conveniently  asleep.  With  strife  and 
death  all  about  him,  he  had  done  little  else  than  sleep 
since  he  had  recovered  consciousness,  and  the  good 
effects  were  noticeable. 

"He — he's — my — brother,"  Miss  Severoid  hazarded 
at  last,  and  hoped  none  of  the  officers  would  come  in. 

McClure  did  not  move  an  eyelash. 

"I  see.     How  is  he?     A  little  better?" 

Miss  Severoid  gulped.  McClure's  heavy  sort  of 
patience  and  resignation  were  difficult  to  understand 
sometimes. 

"Y-yes — thanks — lots.  I — I  meant  to  tell  you, 

339 


340  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

but — "  She  went  a  little  nearer.  "Gracious!  How 
your  clothes  are  torn!  And  your  hand  is  hurt!  Let 
me—" 

"That's  all  right,"  McClure  interrupted,  and  covered 
the  crude  bandage  that  was  wound  about  the  incision 
Ilora's  teeth  had  made.  "We  are  moving  south  in 
an  hour  with  Dale's  company.  Everything's  all  over, 
and  in  less  than  a  week  you'll  be  on  board  ship. 
How's  that?" 

Miss  Severoid  did  not  seem  to  like  it  very  much. 

"I— did — did  he  tell  you  anything  about — a  wager  ?" 

"Nothing  in  detail.  Said  I  was  to  tell  you  it  was 
all  off,  and  that  he  was  sorry  about  it.  And  he  said 
something,  too,  about  taking  your  advice  on  the  ques 
tion  of  color.  But  that  was  all." 

"Why!  Where  did  you — where  is  he?  He 
couldn't  come  here,  of  course !" 

"Er — no — he  couldn't  come  here." 

"And — and  he  said  the  wager  was  off  ?  Why  ?  Be 
cause  the  Yorubas  were  here?" 

McClure's  eyes  dulled.  It  was  harder  than  he  had 
had  any  idea  it  would  be. 

"No— that  is — he — er — he  didn't  know  the  Yoru 
bas  were  here,  and  he  waited  behind  to  keep  those 
Benin  City  beasts  back.  They  fought  with  us,  you 
know,  and  we  left  them  behind.  But  he  knew  they'd 
be  on  again  worse  than  ever,  and — well — he  waited 
to  keep  them  back  as  long  as  he  could  to — er — to  give 
you  a  chance  to  get  away.  And — he — died." 

His  voice  had  fallen  away  to  a  subdued  monotone 
that  was  funereally  deep.  Miss  Severoid  stood  very 
still,  looking  up  at  him  wonderingly — the  innocent 
wonder  of  a  child  who  has  been  told  that  the  stars 
are  millions  and  millions  of  miles  away. 

Then  she  seemed  to  understand  a  trifle  better,  and 
the  little  color  that  was  in  her  cheeks  receded  slowly. 


THE  HEADSTONE  341 

Her  fingers  fumbled  with  the  tattered  sleeve  of  Mc- 
Clure's  coat. 

"Dead!"  she  breathed.     "He— he's  dead!" 

McClure  nodded. 

"And  Cralla?  You  said  before  you  ran  off  again 
that  he—" 

"He— he's  dead,  too." 

"They — they  died — together?" 

"Together.     And  were  buried  together." 

"You — you  buried  a  white  man  with  a  Jackrie!" 

"We  buried  a  white  man  who  was  sometimes  a 
Jackrie,  but  who  died  as  white  as  the  whitest  man 
who  ever  lived." 

"You — you  mean — " 

"That  Clavering  and  Cralla  were  one  and  the  same." 

Miss  Severoid's  lips  parted  suddenly  and  McClure 
thought  she  was  going  to  scream.  Pain  and  surprise 
and  not  a  little  horror  fought  together  in  her  face,  and 
the  scream  seemed  to  become  more  imminent.  But 
she  did  not  scream  nor  utter  a  single  word.  Her 
mind,  with  a  wonderful  effort,  rose  above  all  forms 
of  hysteria  except  tears,  and  those  sprang  into  her 
eyes  at  once  and  flowed  very,  very  quietly  as  McClure 
led  her  gently  to  a  camp-chair  and  stood  silently  at  her 
side  as  if  to  shade  her  pain  from  all  the  world. 

She  had  a  suffocating  sensation  of  wanting  to  put 
the  gripping  tightness  about  her  heart  into  words — 
when  there  were  no  words  for  it. 

And  then,  when  the  tears  had  eased  the  weight  a 
little  and  the  first  sharp  pain  of  the  shock  had  dimin 
ished,  she  found  enough  voice  to  ask  questions,  which 
McClure  answered  as  best  he  could ;  so  that  the  men 
tion  of  Covering's  name  made  her  throat  and  eyes 
fill  very  readily  forever  afterward. 

That  Clavering  had  been  Cralla  was  a  distortion  to 
which  her  mind  could  not  adjust  itself  for  days,  even 


342  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

though  she  immediately  recalled  how  she  had  re 
peatedly  distrusted  Cralla's  eyes  and  mouth,  and 
remembered  how  Clavering's  demoniacal  outburst  of 
the  previous  morning  resembled  Cralla's  inhuman  rage 
when  he  had  struck  McClure  across  the  eyes  with  the 
hippo-hide  thong. 

But  even  remembering  these  things,  it  was  still 
an  inconceivable,  fantastic,  irreconcilable  combination, 
principally  because  she  could  not  associate  the  syco 
phantic  Jackrie  chief  with  the  thing  that  Clavering 
had  done — for  her. 

And  that  was  the  memory  of  him  she  hugged  in 
her  breast — the  only  one — triumphant  above  all  other 
things ;  a  memory  that,  when  it  ceased  to  stifle,  wrapped 
her  heart  about  with  a  soft,  exhilarating  warmth  as, 
her  mission  ended  and  her  appalling  task  so  wonder 
fully  accomplished,  she  turned  her  face  toward  the 
south  and  left  Tulami  behind  with  the  harsh  sound  of 
Yoruba  huzzas  in  her  ears. 

Heavy,  large  and  patient  as  usual,  McClure  asked 
no  questions  about  the  wager  nor  about  any  of  the 
several  little  matters  that  were  doubtful  to  him.  It 
was  not  until  they  reached  Saloko  and  had  astounded 
the  West  African  world  with  the  news  they  had 
brought  that  there  was  any  sort  of  an  opportunity  for 
an  eye-to-eye  conference  about  things. 

It  took  place  on  Marsden  &  Co.'s  launch  Rover  as 
it  sped  Segwanga-ward,  with  Saloko's  good  wishes 
dying  out  in  the  distance. 

Ralph  was  in  the  cabin  looking  much  better,  his 
rapid  recovery  being  due  more  to  mind  than  medicine, 
but  principally  to  "Bess,"  who,  as  some  one  in  Saloko 
remarked  with  a  fair  amount  of  truth,  "would  make 
anybody  get  well." 

The  boy  was  still  weak,  but  there  was  a  grip  of  life 
in  his  face;  his  shoulder  was  healing  properly  and 


THE  HEADSTONE  343 

rapidly  and  his  hair  was  growing — which  latter  prob 
lem  had  disturbed  his  sister  not  a  little. 

She  had  just  left  him,  having  heard  him  say  once 
more  that  he  was  a  "rotter"  and  was  sorry  for  every 
thing  he  had  ever  done ;  and  with  a  tender  smile  upon 
her  lips  she  joined  McClure  on  deck. 

"Ralph's  just  told  me  again  he's  sorry,"  she  said 
dubiously.  "I  wonder  if  it's  just  because  he's  sick?" 

McClure  adjusted  the  deck-chair  pillow  for  her 
head  with  that  quiet,  unostentatious  consideration  she 
had  come  to  expect  and  was  sure  she  would  miss  very 
much. 

"Oh,  give  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,"  he  said 
generously,  and  seemed  to  be  paying  more  attention 
to  a  canoe  race  than  to  his  companion.  "Man  or  boy, 
no  one  is  altogether  responsible  for  what  he  does — 
out  here." 

Miss  Severoid's  mouth  tightened. 

"But — but  it  wasn't  out  here.     It  was — at  home." 

McClure' s  glance  switched  slowly  to  her  troubled 
face  and  remained  there. 

"I  see." 

His  hand  went  out  and  closed  upon  hers.  She  did 
not  draw  it  away,  and  they  sat  in  silence  for  a  longer 
time  than  either  knew,  each  waiting  for  the  other  to 
speak. 

"What  I  said  in  Basanna,  stands — before  you  tell 
me  anything,"  McClure  said  at  last  very  quietly  and 
firmly.  "And  it  will  stand  afterward,  too.  Are  we 
going  to  have  the  ceremony  first  and  the  explanations 
afterward?  It's  all  the  same  to  me." 

And  Miss  Severoid  drew  her  hand  away  very  slowly. 

"He — he  nearly  killed  a  man  and — and  they  put 
him  in  prison  and — " 

"That  means  you  need  help,  doesn't  it?"  came  the 
steady  interruption.  "Think  I'm  big  enough?" 


344  THE  BITE  OF  BENIN 

He  rose  and  stood  over  her  suddenly. 

"Or  is  it  that  I  don't  make  love  with  the  finish  of  a 
matinee  idol?  I  can't  do  that,  little  woman.  Life's 
always  been  a  pretty  serious  problem  with  me — though 
I  may  have  pretended  to  laugh  at  most  of  it — and  I 
can't  gush." 

He  stooped  and,  before  she  could  make  any  sort  of 
protest  that  mattered,  he  had  lifted  her  out  of  her  chair 
and  up  into  his  arms.  And  that  before  all  the  river 
world ! 

"Let's  go  and  see  what  Ralph  has  to  say  about  it," 
and  he  moved  with  his  faintly  struggling  burden  to 
ward  the  cabin. 

"Bu — but  gracious!     You  can't — " 

McClure's  mustache  smothered  the  rest  of  it,  and 
Ralph,  seeing  two  small,  white  buckskin  shoes  dan 
gling  peacefully  in  mid-air  just  within  his  range  of 
vision  through  the  cabin  doorway,  wondered  what  on 
earth  his  amazing  sister  was  trying  to  do. 

But  she  had  stopped  trying. 

She  had  succeeded. 

All  this  happened  while  the  Great  White  Queen 
was  yet  at  Windsor,  and  Benin  City  is  no  longer  the 
infernal  city,  though  doubtless  it  is  woolly  enough 
still.  But  the  government  is  there,  accompanied  by 
a  few  white  trading  stores  and  other  signs  of  less 
bloodthirsty  times  than  Daka's. 

Several  years  after  the  city  was  cleared  of  Benis  by 
large,  cone-pointed  juju  monsters  that  came  through 
the  air  from  a  far  country  and,  dropping  over  the 
great  mud  wall,  burst  with  a  thunderous  roar  and 
scattered  destruction  all  round  about,  a  lieutenant  of 
the  "Waff's"  named  Dale  was  passing  south  from  the 
city  on  his  way  to  Saloko. 

"Wonder  if  my  headstone's  still  to  the  fore?"  he 


THE  HEADSTONE  345 

muttered  to  himself  as  he  came  to  a  little  path  that 
led  to  a  jufu  worshiping  hut. 

So  he  strolled  in  to  see. 

A  lizard  with  a  golden  head  and  a  tail  of  blue-black 
ink,  basking  in  the  sun  upon  Ilora's  grave,  scurried 
away  at  Dale's  approach.  McClure's  sprig  of  ever 
green  had  vanished  in  a  thunder-storm  long,  long  ago. 

The  mango-stick  cross  had  been  battered  by  many 
rains  and,  having  fallen  over  upon  one  side,  a  part  of 
the  cross-piece  had  become  embedded  in  the  soft, 
swampy  ground.  When  Dale  tried  to  raise  the  cross 
into  an  upright  position,  most  of  the  right  side  of  the 
cross-piece  came  away  in  his  hand. 

But  the  other  half  held. 

And  as  he  stuck  the  battered  "headstone"  into  place, 
Dale  smiled  whimsically,  and  cut  the  letters  that  were 
left  so  that  they  stood  out  white  and  clear  again — thus : 

CLAVERING 
Cralla's  name  had  rotted  away. 


THE   END 


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